Grim Reaper Saw Me Riding Home from Work Today

While cruising Old Yeller down that big hill on Farnam just before Saddlecreek, this car suddenly makes an aggressive U-Turn about 20 yards in front of me and proceeds to cut across my lane. The driver didn't see me.

I yell, "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" like really loud because I didn't have time to think of anything more witty to scream.

That's when I saw the Grim Reaper. He was standing at the entrance to Don And Millie's parking lot, which was where the car was about to run me over.

I'm still yelling, "AHHHHHHHHHHHH" as I quickly turn and bunny hop the half-curb driveway entrance at about 30 mph. Brakes were not even an option.

The car screeches to a stop only inches from me. I could feel the heat of the radiator on my legs and as I whizzed by the Grim Reaper. I think that I heard him snap his fingers and say, "shucks."

Other than the embellishments about the radiator heat and the Grim Reaper stuff, it was all frighteningly true: I was almost a goner!

When I came to a stop, I verified that the car hooked around a concrete median and crossed a solid double yellow line. It was bad enough that I had nearly been in a serious accident, but the thought of my life ending over such stupidity, and for what -- a Millie burger and a cheese frenchie? Getting mad. Madder....

**BOOM!!**

With adrenaline surging through my veins, I turned Old Yeller back around and confronted the driver getting out of her car. Well, it was more like a rabid dog's barking than a verbal assault. I believe I conveyed the point that she almost killed me while making an illegal turn for fast food, but it's hard to say. After giving her a good verbal tongue thrashing, I heard her say, "I already said I was sorry".

Thankfully, it was only my anger that she had to be sorry about.

Fred Didn't See Me Riding To Work Today

This morning I dropped off the car at Heavy T's Automotive in Bellevue, down by the infamous toll bridge that charges cyclists 50 cents to cross. I unloaded Old Yeller from the car and wished for a long ride into Glenwood, IA. But responsibility called and I turned northwards.

Along the way, Fred didn't see me while he commuted by bike to his new job not at the UP. Having Fredcube work elsewhere bums me out because the therapeutic United Way campaign haiku sessions won't be the same anymore. Bummer #2 is missing Fredcube fending off the attacks by Reed and Wes over lunch rides.

Such is life.

But I know that Fred didn't see me while riding to work today because I didn't hear him curse and swear at me as I rode by. He also mentioned it that he didn't see me on his blog.

I'd like to imagine what if Fredcube saw me while he rode to not-UP today. Long before he could recognize that it was Old Yeller approaching, venom would have been flowing. In his mind's voice, he'd be critical about the way I was riding, or the clothes I was wearing. Maybe even the bike I was riding. But as I approached, Old Yeller would have struck fear in his heart. In his weakened state, would he let it out, or bottle it up only to go critical-mass on some helpless chap down the path?

Anyway, driving the car 19 miles in the opposite direction from work to only then ride by bicycle back was a good way to start the day. But it came with a twinge of guilt. I mean, I'm riding to work and enjoying the exercise just after dropping off old smokey to be fixed. Indeed, it is not unlike smoking without inhaling?

I wonder if I inhaled the exhaust my car had just created when Fred didn't see me riding to work today.

Not In Kansas Anymore

90 minutes into a five hour race and I was already having doubts. Pain and fatigue had set in and my focus was waining.

An hour earlier, I completed the 1.2 mile swim where I was punched and kicked many times by fellow triathletes. It was not unlike a hockey game in there. Once, I was kicked so hard in in the face that a knee jerk reaction resulted in a severe right hamstring cramp. Stopping to stretch in a middle of a deep lake among thousands of swimmers and a 1/2 mile yet to go posed quite a challenge. I managed.

But it just wasn't working on the bike. Lactic Acid coursing through the veins and that hammy threatening to act up, I had a moment of doubt. Would I even finish the race? My mind started to drift.

I thought of all of the training I had completed over the months. The long rides with my cycling friends Munson and Bryan, the weight lifting, the early morning Masters swimming practices and the long runs I had completed with this day in mind. There are always the what-ifs and wishes for more training, but I knew I was pretty well prepared.

I thought of Katherine and brother Murphini who were somewhere out on the course cheering me on. That helped carry the burden.

A cyclist or two passed me. No big deal. A hill was approaching where I'd reel them back in.

I thought of brother Brendan who had surprised me by rolling up to Murphini's house late Friday night from Colorado to compete with me. He was racing with elbow-to-wrist and full calf raspberries from a training ride crash only days before; the crimson scabs caused many to wince at the pre-race number markups. Dude's as tough as he is and nuts. Along with him was another triathlete and friend, Ryan, who was also racing. And joining us on Saturday was Brendan's girlfriend and professional triathlete, Karen. I was in excellent racing company and I sponged up as much racing advice and encouragement from them as I could soak up. Indeed, I was as ready to take a chance, go fast, pass on turns and feed the bears...as anyone could be.

Reaching the peak of the hill, the road turned into a strong headwind and a series of rollers with another menacing climb five miles down the road. Morale sank even lower.

In truth, the bike course favored my smaller size. While I spun seated in the hills, most of the others stood and labored. I'd make huge gains on the climbs only to having some of that erode on the downward slope and flats.

Knowledge of my cycling advantage did little to help my spirit. Even without the heart rate monitor, I knew that I was near my red line and I had a lot of distance to cover. Heat was also becoming a factor as I continued to struggle with motivation.

Then I remembered my cycling friend Munson telling me how he endured the physical pain of time trials: distraction. He copes with the pain by mentally picturing happy thoughts, like lollipops and bushy-tail bunnies. I tried, but Charms Blow-Pops and Br'er Rabbit just floated on by. Something else lurked in the shadows of my subconscious. I concentrated a little harder as a human figure began to form. It was holding a drawn bow and arrow. What figure would emerge from this archetype? Was it Apollo hunting, or the brave warrior Geronimo?

To my horror, the image that resolved was a pot-bellied Athena bow hunting carp in a camouflage bikini during a recent time trail training session at Lake Manawa in Council Bluffs.

Ahhh!

I was cured. I was now grateful for the remaining 41 miles of torturing hills and the half marathon that would distract me from that cross-breed between Vince Neil and what I imagine to be Ted Nugent's soul mate. I tucked into a tight aero position and began counting the cyclist I passed. It was a good bike ride from then onward.

Transition from the bike to run is never fun. A mile into it, the hamstring finally seized up. Fortunately, another triathlete who might as well have been Jesus in Asics gave me a package of salt tabs with the instructions to take two with water every four miles. Hallelujah! It cured the hammy, but for the next five miles I still fought GI issues and bloating while struggling to find my running form. After taking a port-a-potty pit stop at mile six, I felt well enough to race and completed the half marathon in one hour and forty-one minutes to the cheers of Katherine, Murphini, Karen and Brendan (who finished the race some sixteen minutes ahead of me). Nearly five hours had passed since diving into Lake Clinton; Iwas quite emotional as Katherine hugged me just beyond the finish line.

Official Results:
53rd overall, 22nd Citizens, 7th Age Group
Swim: 0:33:04.9 -- 01:34.0/100m pace
Bike: 2:32:22.9 -- 22.1 mph pace
Run: 1:41:57.0 -- 07:47.0 min/miles
Total Elapsed Time: 4:50:30.3

I am happy with the results, especially considering it was my first at that distance as well as the challenging nature of the course.

Finally, a super-huge shout out goes out to the Murphini family for hosting us over the weekend. We appreciate you loaning us Guz, for feeding us, chauffeuring and just making sure that three racers under your roof could prepare for the main event. Thank you - you guys were terrific!

Well what's next? Unpacking, laundry, yard work, the list goes on. Sigh. Indeed, I'm not in Kansas anymore!

Swim Bike Run Saturday

If you don't want/have to swim, join us for the bike time trial at 8:00 AM. It's flat, fast and short (6.55 miles). Last weekend, the fastest averaged 25.9 mph.

Where: Lake Manawa North Shore Park
When: Saturday May 31st 7:15am

Swim: 7:15am to 7:45am.
* Water is panic-stricken chilly, bring your wetsuit!

Bike: 8:00am - Four 10K Bike loops
* Loop1 – Group Ride (warm up)
* Loop2 – Solo Time Trial separated by 20 -30 seconds.
* Loop3 – Group Ride (recovery)
* Loop4 – Pursuit Time Trial separated by 20 – 30 seconds.

Run: 10k loop

Eat at Perkins Council Bluffs afterwards.

Steve Lemans

With every day that passes, I get more sucked into the cycling subculture.

Take the Giro d'Italia. Last year, a Giro was just another Greek food; now it's a Greek food (like a balaclava) that also has a cycling connotation. Fantastic! And this year, I've learned the names of a few more riders. I watched as David Millar took an agonizing groin shot to the top tube when his chain snapped 1K from the finish. I've also have been cheering on that little Italian climbing phenomenon and veteran Leonardo Piepoli.

I've come to realize that cycling has more retina staying power than non-mainstream sports. Must be because of the cycling gear: the brightly colored uniforms and cycles. Let's face it, outside of Ringling Brothers, you don't see this much vivid spandex. If only the Italians would follow their circus cousins and grow mustaches to look like their mothers.

Running, in contrast, has no such appeal. You've got boring singlets and running shorts. Oh, and some flashy shoes. With this drab outlook, there's little sense of team competition. Even in cross country, the colors are often so muted like burnt umber or a dull cyan that it just too depressing to view. And while the 1980s had a fair amount of almost-mainstream runners: Rodgers, Prefontaine, Salazar, Beardsley and Samuelson, I challenge you to name a prominent runner today. Can you?

But cycling has its share of recognizable names. Of course, there's Armstrong. Some may recall Floyd Landis. And then there is Greg Lemond.

With a flame out with Trek bicycling company, Lemond is still vying for attention in the public eye. Regarding his image, it does seem as though he has a hard time of letting go of things. Like Pizza. Yet I got to give him credit, because the public still remembers his greatness in Paris.

Take yesterday, for instance. I was riding home from work on Old Yeller in my Midwest Cycling Community kit. As I approached 15th and Farnam a jaywalker yells, "GO STEVE LEMANS!" Um. Lemans? ... Steve? I could be wrong about this, but I think he meant Greg Lemond. But perhaps he meant Lemaze. Lemond does look like he's about to birth something, so I could see that. But I'm pretty certain he said Lemans. Of course, due diligence followed as I later Googled "Steve Lemans." The Google was also a bit confused and fired back "Did you mean: steve le mans". I clicked the link to discover references to Steve McQueen and the 1971 movie "Le Mans". This really got interesting because of the Steve McQueen - Sheryl Crowe connection, which brought me back to Lance. It's a stretch, but I really doubt that's what he meant.

Regardless of what was actually said, it still made a difference on my ride. A toothy grin erupted on my face while the heart rate and cadence picked up. Indeed, I felt a special new connection to the cycling community in being compared with the greatness of the one and only Greg Steve McQueen Le Mans Lemond.

Like Steve McQueen
All I need's a fast machine ....