3 weeks to go.
504 hours.
30,240 minutes.
Don't ask how many seconds - that would just be anal.
Ok, if you want to get detailed, it's 9 laundry loads, 3 gas-ups, 6 movies, 4 dance lessons and about 120 bathroom trips for purposes other than taking a shower. I’m not going to guess how many times I’ll wake up with female company and a smile on my face but, if recent history is any indication, a disappointingly low number.
Loads of things to do, but preparation is key. There are spares to buy, parts to replace and equipment to install. I need tubes, tires, spokes, patches, glue, gloves, computer, bike bag and more. What happened to the fun of cycling?
The checklist gets longer every time I cross something off. Stress, stress, stress and it won’t end until the bike gets shipped and I reach Los Angeles and find it reassembled and ready to go; assuming it gets there. But if not, then I’ll sue. Hey – this is America. Knowing when to sue (always) is question number one on the citizenship test.
Just as well the other stuff got done already: get loan, pay rent, quit job, renew lease, purchase house and order maps. My hair would go gray, if it wasn't already white.
I feel like a prisoner in a WWII prison camp, tunneling for freedom and scattering dirt across the exercise yard from pockets in modified trousers. The checklist is my personal tunnel and every item checked is another bag of dirt. Just a few more walks around the compound and I’m out.
People think I’m insane. Me? How about their strange questions and useless advice? What use is a GPS that plugs into a cigarette lighter? Or a universal charger for a phone, laptop, camera, shaver and all the other things that have no place on a bike? Or a AAA membership?
What would you expect to pay for 50 hotel rooms and meals and on-the-road support, I ask the doubters whose eyes widen when they ask the cost and think I’m somehow being ripped off? But that’s only the first half – and don't forget four months' loss of income. Add it up and it's half the gross national product of Cuba.
Emails flit back and forth daily from riders and staff with advice on equipment and supplies. If I took any of it seriously, I’d accumulate gallons of A&D ointment to smear on my backside (and stain seats across America), stock up on Power bars and Gatorade powder, ingest countless articles on nutrition and rush to purchase leg warmers, arm coolers, head bands, sweat bands and all kinds of personal equipment.
How about an assault rifle for protection in the badlands? Maybe a little motor to help on those hills? No one’s mentioned those.
Laziness and the flatlands of southern Florida have attracted flab to my middle and decreased my stamina. The SAG van driver will get to see my sun-scarred countenance often during the first week, when I’ve ground to an exhausted halt or fallen off, screaming from quad cramps and twitching from calf spasms. Maybe he’ll take a picture.
What I really need is a good dose of training but there’s always a good excuse – allergies are playing up, there’s a party at the weekend and, of course, Happy Hour. Can I buy fitness in a pill at GNC? Maybe they’ll give me a gold card.
Hiking will help, so I’m going to Joshua Tree and the Santa Rosa mountains for a week. Not quite the same muscles, but it’ll generate a sweat, burn up a calorie or two and can’t do any harm - unless I fall off a ledge or get eaten by a mountain lion.
As a last taste of civilization after that, the entire 8th of May will be spent in an air-conditioned IMAX theatre somewhere in Los Angeles, watching Star Trek XI.
One to beam out...
Energize…
504 hours.
30,240 minutes.
Don't ask how many seconds - that would just be anal.
Ok, if you want to get detailed, it's 9 laundry loads, 3 gas-ups, 6 movies, 4 dance lessons and about 120 bathroom trips for purposes other than taking a shower. I’m not going to guess how many times I’ll wake up with female company and a smile on my face but, if recent history is any indication, a disappointingly low number.
Loads of things to do, but preparation is key. There are spares to buy, parts to replace and equipment to install. I need tubes, tires, spokes, patches, glue, gloves, computer, bike bag and more. What happened to the fun of cycling?
The checklist gets longer every time I cross something off. Stress, stress, stress and it won’t end until the bike gets shipped and I reach Los Angeles and find it reassembled and ready to go; assuming it gets there. But if not, then I’ll sue. Hey – this is America. Knowing when to sue (always) is question number one on the citizenship test.
Just as well the other stuff got done already: get loan, pay rent, quit job, renew lease, purchase house and order maps. My hair would go gray, if it wasn't already white.
I feel like a prisoner in a WWII prison camp, tunneling for freedom and scattering dirt across the exercise yard from pockets in modified trousers. The checklist is my personal tunnel and every item checked is another bag of dirt. Just a few more walks around the compound and I’m out.
People think I’m insane. Me? How about their strange questions and useless advice? What use is a GPS that plugs into a cigarette lighter? Or a universal charger for a phone, laptop, camera, shaver and all the other things that have no place on a bike? Or a AAA membership?
What would you expect to pay for 50 hotel rooms and meals and on-the-road support, I ask the doubters whose eyes widen when they ask the cost and think I’m somehow being ripped off? But that’s only the first half – and don't forget four months' loss of income. Add it up and it's half the gross national product of Cuba.
Emails flit back and forth daily from riders and staff with advice on equipment and supplies. If I took any of it seriously, I’d accumulate gallons of A&D ointment to smear on my backside (and stain seats across America), stock up on Power bars and Gatorade powder, ingest countless articles on nutrition and rush to purchase leg warmers, arm coolers, head bands, sweat bands and all kinds of personal equipment.
How about an assault rifle for protection in the badlands? Maybe a little motor to help on those hills? No one’s mentioned those.
Laziness and the flatlands of southern Florida have attracted flab to my middle and decreased my stamina. The SAG van driver will get to see my sun-scarred countenance often during the first week, when I’ve ground to an exhausted halt or fallen off, screaming from quad cramps and twitching from calf spasms. Maybe he’ll take a picture.
What I really need is a good dose of training but there’s always a good excuse – allergies are playing up, there’s a party at the weekend and, of course, Happy Hour. Can I buy fitness in a pill at GNC? Maybe they’ll give me a gold card.
Hiking will help, so I’m going to Joshua Tree and the Santa Rosa mountains for a week. Not quite the same muscles, but it’ll generate a sweat, burn up a calorie or two and can’t do any harm - unless I fall off a ledge or get eaten by a mountain lion.
As a last taste of civilization after that, the entire 8th of May will be spent in an air-conditioned IMAX theatre somewhere in Los Angeles, watching Star Trek XI.
One to beam out...
Energize…
Eh, do you do laundry 3 times a week?
ReplyDeleteI always thought you had a few screws loose. I just never realized it was so many.
ReplyDeleteIf you find somewhere to buy fitness in a pill, please let me know?
ReplyDeleteYou have got to watch "The Triplets of Belleville!"
ReplyDelete