My Lucky Socks

Years ago my good friend Brian, who races on a Cannondale bike team asked me if I'd like to try Cyclocross racing.  Cyclocross bikes are basically road bikes with brakes and tires made for off road riding. It sounded like fun to me, the only problem was that I didn't have a Cyclocross bike and Brian is a lot smaller than I am, so he didn't have a bike I could borrow.  I was going to have to ride my Trek Mountain bike, which was made in nearly the same era as the Schwinn Comp.  The Trek was a beast that made all sorts of noises, and sometimes skipped gears for no apparent reason.  Nonetheless I thought it would be cool to check the sport out and see if I liked it enough to invest in a real Cyclocross bike.

The day of the race arrived and I met Brian at the course, quickly realizing that perhaps I was a bit out of my league.  There were guys riding bike trainers next to their car, drinking fancy sports drinks.  Some guys had 2 or 3 bikes with them and were trying to decide which was best suited to the course. Meanwhile pulling into the parking lot with the Trek ignobly displayed on top of my car, I felt like I had arrived in the Oscar Meyer Wiener mobile.  I parked as fast as I could and quickly pulled the bike down from the top of my car.  I found Brian, who took one look at me and said, "Is that what you're wearing for the race?"  I had on a pair of cargo shorts and a t shirt.  "Um...yup"   Feeling bad for me Brian offered to let me borrow one of his extra uniforms.  The only problem is that Brian is a good 70 pounds lighter than me and a bit shorter.  It was not going to be easy squeezing into his little spandex unitard.  I took the getup anyhow and got into my car to put it on.  By the time I came out I was dripping in sweat from all the effort, but I got it on.  One look at Brian's face told the story, I looked ridiculous.  Thankfully, Brian is a loyal friend and he stuck with me.  We went for a warm up ride, where he got to hear first hand the symphony of squeeks, clicks, and wheezes my bike made.  Brian told me I'd be fine, and that the race would be fun.  Finally it was time for the race to begin.

We rolled up to the starting line and immediately the comments began.  "Sweet Trek man!". "Yah its my training bike." I said.   The starting gun fired and I put all of my strength into taking off.  I wanted to blast off and show those guys that I could hold my own despite the bike.  Then it happened.  I felt and heard a sickening rip in the ass of my uniform right up my back.  This would not have been so bad, had I decided to wear something under the uniform, but I was trying to conserve space.  I immediately heard a mix of laughter and horror from behind me as riders became aware of my wardrobe malfunction.  But I'd come this far and I wasn't about to quit, so I pedaled even harder (standing up) hoping to get in front of the entire pack.  Perhaps this was the advantage I needed to do well in the race.  Nope.  Halfway through the first lap I could tell I was close to last place.  At one point I heard a shaky voice that sounded like someone's grandfather say, "Son you've set a very nice pace, but now I have to pass you".  When he went by I could see that he probably was someone's grandfather.  Needless to say, I did not win the race.

After the race I became something of an honorary member of the team, and was able to get my own uniform.  Including the lucky socks I wore yesterday to my bone marrow biopsy. Be it luck or science I'm happy to report that the biopsy showed I was at 6% blast cells, which is basically remission!  I'm ready for transplant.  The Nexavar is working better than expected. Yes!