Friday the 13th Special Guest Contributor Edition

photo: Getty images

One doesn't undergo seven surgeries in five years without spending some serious time at the Dr's office. Like piles of base miles to a world class cyclist, the fundamentals of reading year-old magazines and staring at the carpet while passing time in waiting rooms are the ham and eggs of a professional patiet such as my lovely wife A. Below, as a special guest contributor to this blog (whose only real rival is, of course, The New Yorker) is an email she sent me recently. Enjoy...

So I'm at Dr. S, my gastro-guy (he's the upper one, not the lower one) and there is a dude in the waiting room with me worth telling you about. First he spent about 10 minutes texting someone with a really old phone (where to get a letter "c" you have to push the correct # key 3 times). What made it awesome is it beeped really loud for each time he pushed. And it was a long text.

Then he got up and went to the water cooler and drank a Dixie cup of water like a maniac, gulping it so fast water trickled out the sides of his mouth. The cup holds like 1 ounce of water so I could not figure how he managed this. Then he belched loudly, repeatedly and LONG (no 'excuse me').

Next his phone rang and he told the caller that if they didn't stop texting him he'd change the number and call the cops!!! He was pissed! While he's screaming into the phone he's also trying to get some Tums out of a bottle and drops a bunch on the floor. So he picks them up and eats all of them. I'm talking about 8 Tums!

I'm trying so hard not to laugh or stare 'cause now he's back to texting but now it's angry texting with a very jabby pointer finger and muttering. I'm guessing he's at the doc today because of the hole he's burned in his gut from being a rager.

Incognito

A few weeks ago G and I were at Home Depot and amid the excitement of buying project supplies he pee'd his pants. Sucks, but goes with the territory of late. It seems he's been swinging at bad pitches and watching the good ones pass over the plate without even flinching. He'll stand or sit at the porcelain with no action, then do the cowboy walk through the doorknob aisle with urine seeping out his shoes.

"It's all a process," I told us both trying to be an example and stay cool as we left the store. People laughed at his scowl or asked,"Why the pouting, little man?" I didn't understand that one as anyone only had to look at his soaked pants or the trail of urine droplets from his Lighting McQueen kicks to figure out why a 3 year old might turn foul. Hell, my smile would be upside down if I drained my bladder into my Samba's in public.

Two weeks and some heavy head colds pass and G and I find ourselves back at Home Depot to pick up some small bits to finish our project. It's pouring rain and snowing a little so I say to him that we gotta hurry so we can get back before the inside of the car gets cold again. He agrees but stalls while insisting to put on his sunglasses.

I'll be honest; I don't care if the kid wears pajamas to church. He's got a doll named Abby that's either his sister or daughter depending on the day. Abby doesn't bother me. Abby's mom is always A so him being the dad gets a little dicey, but he's also got a Rocky Balboa action figure and fire trucks and helicopters so the doll doesn't shake my conviction that he's all dude.

Suffice it to say the shades have no effect other than slowing us down. Inside the store people point and laugh. Ha, ha, funny stuff, a kid in shades on a rainy day. Great, I'm in a hurry. G's a good sport, keeping up and not wandering off to collect stuff he thinks we need. What we need are 2 electrical plug covers and one more tube of paneling glue. We get through the store unscathed and back to the car before the seats even got cold. All is well.

Then at home it hit me. He wore the shades because he didn't want to be recognized as the kid who left a puddle of pee in the store two weeks ago. I wish I could buy him a beer.

Keep it Simple

A friend recently decided that his SRM power meter wasn't helping him gain the performance advantages he sought on his daily commute any longer. So he sold it and we discussed the virtues of knowing what gear one is riding in and being aware of cadence. It's amazing how when the chatter is muted, the fundamentals of training are timeless.

Another friend, who is preparing himself for post-apocalyptic survival, called one recent evening for a pick up as he had flatted 3 times and was out of spare tubes and patches while on his training ride. Part of the discussion on the 10-minute drive home was about thinning down the spare tool bag from multi-tools, 3 tubes, patches and a spare tire to just a tube or two. "Back in the day," we decided, we didn't have cell phones so we had to actually be self reliant.

When I was 17 and 18 I was lucky enough to spend most of my training time with a Pro racer who had prior lived in France and Italy. Rob and I crossed paths on rides a few times before he called me and said to be at his house at 9 sharp the next morning. I showed up early. The interaction wasn't formal, but was succinct. He sat me down at the small kitchen table, across from a Graham Watson calender on the wall, made me my first ever doppio espresso, then left the room to get dressed.

Not previously being a coffee drinker, I drank the espresso without milk and despite it's flavorful strength wondered why it was in such a tiny cup. He walked back into the kitchen dressed for training, sat down to put on his shoes and said simply that we'd always leave at 9 and to be prepared for at least 3 hours, sometimes 7 but almost always 5. When I asked about structure, his response was to ride at least 3 hours, almost always 5 and sometimes 7. Pretty simple.

Last weekend I got out to ride with friends both days for my 2nd and 3rd rides in 6 weeks, my first in 3 weeks. We saw both cars below on the same ride. Given all the years of improvements to handling and performance, paying attention seems to remain fundamental.

I wonder if the Asia cassette is still in the tape deck?

Nice parallel parking job by the Miata.