Jul 292011

Psycho KillerOn Saturday I engaged in an activity that I have not participated in for a number of years and that is bike riding. Of course a number of decisions had to be made as to where we were going to ride, length of the ride, what to carry with us, what hospital was in close proximity when we would suffer a myocardial infarction. Well for some reason my insane companion chose Mt. Diablo as our destination. This is a riding trail for one person that has ridden one time and another who has not had his ass planted on a bike in a long time. I am sure Satan was laughing quite uproariously as he was sitting on his throne of brimstone. He is a jolly old fellow.

The day began early at 6:15 AM with me stumbling around trying to wake up. I achieved this goal when I stepped on the cat, he bit me, I screamed, I jumped and hit my head on an open cupboard. For a few minutes I believed I was General George Patton smacking around a cowardly soldier gleefully. I then came to my senses when I saw how silly I looked with my hair and eyebrows dyed white wearing cropped riding pants with my whip in hand and my neighbor that had wandered out to get his morning paper, unconscious in his drive way. I stealthy snuck back into my house and returned my appearance to its original state.

I retrieved my bike from the shed and forced the spiders to leave, which had made it their home by presenting them with an eviction notice. They took it amazingly well and left immediately with their webs. I wheeled in outside and began to perform maintenance upon it. I had to locate my pump since both tires were flat. Fortuitously I found the pump under my Care Bears bike helmet. I think it is about time to get a new helmet since I can now get a Pretty Pony one! Tires were inflated and ready to go and I walked it out to the driveway. I had to walk through three disposal containers just outside the gate and paying more attention to them then to where I was walking. I immediately walked shin first into the gate latch and it begins bleeding. I have not even straddled my bike and I am already injured. What idiot coined the old adage “As easy as falling off a bike!”? That adage might as well be modified to “As easy as breaking multiple bones and receiving numerous bruises and contusions and a possible fatal cranial injury!”

I finally gathered all my equipment, piling it onto the driveway. First thing I had to do was adjust my seat to the proper height. I proceeded to ride around the court. Bicycle seats were never made for men. I do not know why they could not be designed differently. All that would be needed would be a repository located at the front of the seat for the testicles. There is nothing like an activity which can affect a man’s reproductive system in a negative way. When riding a bike it is similar to asking a friend to swing a 10 pound hand sledge hammer and hit you squarely in your genitals. The only difference is that the same pain is aggregated over time. Any guy could try this experiment to experience the joy of riding on the seat of a bicycle. Just place your testicles into a vice and give it a half tightening turn every 3 minutes. When they are blue and you can no longer feel any pain, you have attained bike rider crotch. Somehow I do remember ever having this problem with the banana seats. So since I have NOT ridden in awhile, I had to get my crotch area accustomed to pain. I paid the neighbor kids to shoot me in the genitals for up to 20 minutes a night with automatic weapons that disperse plastic BBs. They were very accurate and by Saturday morning my genitals were numb.

My riding compatriot arrives and we place my bike onto the bike rack, or attempt to. Of course my frame is not designed to be easily placed upon the rack. Fortunately I received a blue print with the bike that I pulled out and we examined for 15 minutes and were eventually able to place it on the rack once we obtained some Vaseline and 2 ferrets. We were off.

How does one miss a mountain while driving past it? Well in Ohio, we did not call them mountains, they were hills. California is like that. What they call rivers here are no larger than some creeks back home. I mean this is called Mt. Diablo! It should be impressive and frightening to behold. Well, we needed GPS to find it so in my book it is a hill. When we parked, I noticed it was lovely and green with vegetation and trees aplenty. Shouldn’t something named Mt. Diablo be barren and rock laden with lava spewing everywhere with the smell of sulfur permeating the air? I was waiting for the gnashing of the teeth. Maybe Diablo is hiding in a cave somewhere along the hill watching baseball on a big screen, we will never know. I now dub it “Pretty Place.” I am sure the naming of it had to do with drinking a lot of tequila and a dwarven woman with no teeth named “Mingo.”

So we began our ride down what we surmised from looking at the map as the easiest trail to bike on. Of course the first hill was almost insurmountable. I reached the top of the hill and turn to see my companion at the bottom. He walked his bike up and took a breather. Obviously this was Advanced Trail Riding 102. After seeing three squirrels writhing and gasping for air from walking up the hill, we decided to utilize the road instead. We rode back to the road and it was all downhill for almost 3 miles. Unfortunately my riding partner did not seem to understand that we must return to the point at which we started which was 3 mile UPHILL.

Fortunately for myself I have been engaged lately in aerobic activity including my night peeping tom activities which helped to increase my stamina significantly by being chased by spouses with firearms and the police not to mention large canines. I began the uphill trek riding behind my partner that was sweating profusely. We had to stop along the way a number of times or should I say he had to. I continued to ride in circles while he rested. At one point he had to dismount and walk his bike for a distance. I could see he had wobbly legs. I could almost hear the wicked witch of the west screaming “I’m melting, my beautiful wickedness!” except for the fact he is not evil or beautiful, well I am sure to someone he is, I mean beautiful, I just do not roll that way. I am strictly butter side up! I kept giving words of encouragement like “Just take it easy, you are getting a good workout”, Hey you have gotten your cardio for the day!”, “Is that a rattlesnake by your foot?” Well he was able to drag his drooping ass cheeks the rest of the way with my oft used ruse “Hey, it is downhill just up ahead!” You would think after using this ploy 7 times he would start getting wise. Thankfully he did not. Pain and absolute lack of energy will make you susceptible to such things. Thankfully, he could not crawl fast enough to flay me with his Bowie knife. I am most proud of the fact I am 22 years older than he is! Mark one down for the old guys!

We actually made it back to the jeep and I helped to get the bikes racked and tied down since he was claiming to be pushing the Jeep when actually he was resting against it. We made our way back to my place along the weaving roads. I returned home intact. He wishes to do Mount Diablo again, maybe in 6 years when we are fit enough to do so or if I can sell my soul to the Devil for the stamina to do so. I have to read the book “How to Negotiate Unholy Contracts” to see exactly how good old Scratch works. That name sounds like a vernacular for an STD.

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