Damn Pine Needles and Bark  

                                    

 

My frustration supersedes the fact that a race bike going at a speed of 25 mph is better left glued to the pavement, swerving in, out and around people, horse drawn carriages, bikes and other aggravating factors that cause a serious athlete serious chaotic confusion. My ignorant "let's get Mikey to do it" mentality almost cost me my leg as well as any chance of doing the upcoming Mayflower Sprint Triathlon, let alone even finish.

Each time I arrived at this particular area on the lower loop by the old Tavern on the Green, I kept thinking about swinging up and around the children's play area on the hill, then come blasting down around the News van, back across the entrance of the Tavern on the Green and back on my course. My plan was great and would have worked if it had not been for the small, unanticipated pine needles and tree bark that had been matted to the road by the tears of sap mixed with still the morning wash of dew kept alive through the dense shade.

 

                              

A little more background as to why I really needed to gain a bit more of an edge on my speed here in the park. On my 10th lap around the 6 mile loop, I met a very knowledgeable woman on her bike. She was fast and lean. Did I say fast? She was a "girl" and I did not want her to go faster than I was. It was my last 25 miles of 72 which was my downhill training. My downhill training consists of riding as fast as I can down the hill. Simple to do you may think, but the spent energy does not allow you to make it up the next hill without extreme lactate build up. The lactate build up is something that will shut you down quicker than Vito throwing you into that tub of cement he always seems to have on hand in the back yard. Come to think of it, all his friends seem to have access to the same sort of thick mud. It was a good thing I was not concerned about going up the hill. I was just fixated on going down the hill and not stopping until I reached 30 mph each time. The 30 mph was not so hard since on a straight-a-way I can achieve that speed for a straight 7 miles, still working on a total of 12 straight miles of 28 to 33 mph for my race.

This damn woman with her slick bike and fancy outfit was always just out of reach of me and it was really making me madder than a one-legged Jack Rabbit. She was telling me all the things I was doing wrong and you know what? She was always right. It felt like I was riding along side of my ex-wife, God bless her little heart. The ex-wife; not the woman on the bike. Lol The woman on the bike I

was having a vision of sabotaging.

 

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"Care to have another go at it?" she yelled out from the cockpit of her rocket sled and I said "OK, one more try". So we both approached the Everest of the park. I looked at her and she just as dastardly looked back and then neither one of us bothered to push the other. We strolled up that hill talking and trying to psyche the other out. Got to the top and it was on!

I decided now "how do you make Broke Back Dad go fast?" You give the other person a head start and then Broke Back Dad has a reason. It is called humiliating the opponent and their silly flying rocket sled of a bike and its fancy colors and names on it. So she was off and she was screaming. I knew I could not let her get too far out because she would have torn me a new one with her quick-witted humor. I was gaining on her; then right up against the side of her with flames now coming out of the back of her race bike. She yelled over to me "30 mph", but I could hardly hear her because I flew by her so damn fast that I tore the straps off both pedals. I knew this but I did not know exactly how to do it and stand up at the same time. I was jumping from side to side, like trying to jump right over the top of the bike then slamming down with all my weight on the other pedal. I don't know how fast I was going but she thinks I may have gotten as fast as 40 mph. Whatever the speed it was faster than her. My legs now will not pedal at all and here she comes, drinking and pedaling right past me.

                                

 

"Nothing left?" she yells out. OMG! No she did not! Lol This woman is a riot but she was way too cool to let go. She was so lean and strong looking. Every muscle in her shoulders and back were as taunt as the chain line on a super tanker. Long blond hair flying like a kite tale keeping her on track. I caught up to her and for some reason, she decided to push it. At that point, I thought of taking the short cut. I was getting ready to make my secret move.

 

Shhhh. I was behind her blind spot. She would not know what hit her. My last lap. No way in hell was she going to dominate me. Here it comes. The intersection at the bottom, climb the hill, stay to the left, one beverage and sand dog cart swerve, cut, duck back to the left. Now!! Now!! Take it! Go, go go! And I made the craziest sharp right I had ever dared on this Hobo Bike of mine. I am up flying like the tail wind of a fighter jet. Feeling in the groove coming down the hill. Only 25 more yards. Oh crap! Losing it! Hit something! I am now aiming for the grass. My eyes, if anyone could see, I am sure showed that "Mikey" can't do this one.

 

I hit the curb on a slide. My bike stood straight up. My foot, now with a broken, strapless pedal, went right through the middle of the bike and down I went. I managed to stiff-arm my fall, taking the immense impact through my bowling ball shoulders. Then down I went. As I lay on the ground, I thought "what an idiot", and "all this because I did not want a woman to beat me."

Come on guys, haven't you ever been in that situation before? I really don't care most of the time because I can usually win. I, for the most part, don't do things I am not good at. With this woman: I really could not catch her. She humbled me to the point of "I want to just go home".

The whole ordeal was caught frame by frame, by a local news person that was trying to find just the right location for his shoot. He had his camera on auto and was just blasting frame after frame after frame, like you would with an automatic weapon. Push a button and 20 photos are gone in a blink. Well I came as a blink and was down just as fast. This man followed me to the Great Lawn and told me who he was. He thought I would be interested in these photos. I gave him my email address. He took a few more photos, which at that point was just pissing me off. He asked me to sign a release and I said "no". Then he left. Quite frankly, I did not think I would have ever gotten those pictures on my email.

The lady who is the topic of this blog entry is a world class racer and guess what type of bike she had? Paraplegic racing bike. She was turning the wheels with her hands. She was as old as my mother. Ain't that a bitch?