Friday, January 22, 2010

Dear PooBah: Friday Mail....special Gargoyle edition.

I am haunted by gargoyles. 

Gargoyles that have mystical powers of thwarting my best laid plans.  There is no other explanation.  Case in point.  Last weekend was a three-day weekend if your place of employment honors MLK day like mine did.  The weather, as you know, was freezing fog. The riding; slightly more enjoyable than having my scrotum plucked.  Tuesday, I was back at work with precious little time to ride, and what happened?  The weather broke.  Patches of sun, with warmer temperatures.  By Wednesday, we were in the midst of a tropical heat wave, with sun, blue skies, balmy temperatures and dry pavement.  I sat and observed it from inside the asylum I refer to as my job.  And the gargoyles in the heavens, who parted the clouds, giggled.  As we approach the weekend, my weather obsession once again, begins to ramp up, and as I look into that magic 8-ball that has become to me, I see this.

I can practically feel the warmth of their rotten gargoyle breath on the back of my neck from the peels of their laughter as they look over my shoulder at the forecast on my screen. My gargoyles live with me year-round but are especially excitable during periods of cabin fever.....And they are invisible to all but me.  I have discussed them at length with the GEEC, but she thinks I'm crazy....."There are no cosmic forces at work against you," she says as I spill a venti cinnamon dolce latte in my crotch.  The heat of it initially feels good, until the scalding, burning sensation takes over.  I feel like Mr. Robert Wilson as he tries to fly home from a sanitarium where he just spent the previous 6 months recovering from a nervous breakdown in the Twighlight Zone episode called Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.

Not seen it?  Nevermind......I'm not surprised.  My gargoyles are my own - no one else can see them.  I alone bear witness to their scheming.  No one was there to see me try to drink from my frozen bottle while riding last weekend, only to have the plastic literally split in half within my squeezing hand, thus showering my face and chest with ice cold water.  I looked over my shoulder to see if they were on their bikes behind me, smiling with the smug satisfaction of possums sniffing shit.

And with that dear readers, I bring you another installment of Friday Mail.  Have a good weekend, and should you hear the flutter of wings, and the gnashing of talons behind you, do not fear.  They are not hunting you.....I am forever their prey.  Rest assured, they will find me with a pinch flat in the midst of a downpour on Saturday and will ensure that the GU gel I'm about to ingest is rancid and will give me the galloping trots for the remainder of the weekend.

Dear PooBah:
I am loving the Tour Down Under!  Did you see this photo of Allan Davis playing with a baby wallby and kangaroo?
Mike R.

Yup, I sure did.  There is a saying that goes "A fed animal is a dead animal."  This just refers to the fact that if you feed wild animals, then they may lose the drive to fend for themselves, and thus have a poor quality of life.  Therefore, by feeding kangaroos, you are actually not allowing them to pursue the call of nature.....But then again, kangaroos might be different....

Dear PooBah,
I used to be a junkie and my life was a waste.  But then I bought a bike, which allowed me to start riding to my religious services regularly and I've completely turned my life around....I just want all of your readers to know that cycling and the good word can work miracles!
Damien M.

Damien -
Fantastic news.....As a fixie rider, I bet you can bust some sweet tricks.  And I also see that you've got quite the spoke card collection.  I've got an idea.  I'm going to send you this new spoke card....put this in your wheel the next time you are hanging with your boyz and when it bursts into flames, pop a mad will be epic.

Dear PooBah-
Can you settle a bet for me?  Which cyclist has the best mane of all time?  Cipo?
Cyndi P.

Cyndi -
Not even close.....I'm calling a tie between Roberto Gaggioli and Laurent Brochard.

Dear PooBah:
I'm entering my first road race this spring and because I don't belong to a team, I don't know what to wear.  If I wear my replica Team Discovery pro kit, I'm going to be accused of being a poseur.  If I wear my Pink Floyd jersey, I'm going to be accused of being a Fred.  If I just wear a plain jersey, I'm going to look like a complete amateur.  Do you have any advice?
Yours -
Sheldon H.

Several things to realize.  You are in a no-win situation.  No matter what you show up in, you will be laughed at, either blatantly or privately, but more likely, both.  Welcome to the wonderful world of cycling.  Secondly, it's best to realize now that you are all three of those things....a poseur, a Fred, and an amateur.  So am I.  This is our lot in life.  Tough titty.  So, my best advice for being in a situation in which any decision is bad, is to go in deeper....all the way.  Don't be afraid of the Fred.  Embrace the Fred.  Be the Fred, Sheldon.  And remember this....."Do or do not.....there is no try".

Pedal on!


  1. It's a toss up which I like better, the gargoyle or jesus onna bike.

  2. I need to find a flying spaghetti monster on a bike.....

  3. I dunno: I think Laurent Brochard's mullet may be the scariest thing on a bike.