My overall state of Endo

10 November 2008

I get up to go to work, and I have an old pair of corduroys, they are known to me as “my skinny pants”  They are the only pair of pants which I have never needed a belt with, but have been unable to wear since I stopped riding last year.  All those empty beer calories are my guess.  I have been feeling thin lately figured I would giv them a shot.  I slipped right in; I know I am a woman.  I was so happy, I am officially almost skinny.   Later in the day, while working I am moving some sheet stock and the pants get caught a machine.  As I turn with the sheet of plywood I end up tearing the ass off of my skinny pants.  Literally the back of one legs ripped from the pocket to behind my knee.  As I notice this I am thankful I actually wore long johns, otherwise my new coworkers would have seen all my junk.   It was sad, it seems like everyday I am forced to throw up some clothing, and my socks are slowly losing their fight.

 I finished up my first week of work Friday, and I am enjoying the job. I finally got a bench since there has been a shuffle due to someone leaving for rotor cuff surgery.  I will post pictures next week of my lovely little corner in the shop, exciting stuff, ok not quite.  I feel like I need to go buy a poster or something just to help dress it up a bit.    

 So, the last few mornings on my ride to the bus stop I have seen someone else riding a small stretch of road with.  Thursday I caught and passed him in a blink of an eye, and didn’t have a chance t talk.  Then Friday I noticed him up ahead, and slowed a touch to at least say hello prior to leaving him behind.  Keep in mind this is at 5 am so it’s cold and dark so you don’t see many people on the road.  I see him up ahead with his 3 blinking lights, full fenders complete with mud flaps, and I am serious a mud flap.  As I caught him I said good morning, and proceeded to pass (he rides slow) I hear him say something behind me, so I slow down to chit chat.

 Him:  “Where did you get your reellights?”

 Ok reellights are these little lights which attach to your axle.  You mount 2 magnets to your spokes, and every time a magnet passes the light flashes.  They use no batteries, and as you ride they build up a charge so if you stop at a red light they keep blinking for a period of time.  I have never seen anyone else with a set; I ended up ordering them last year, after searching for a supplier.  You got to love the internet I was finally able to find a company in Sweden that was selling them.  I was actually amazed he knew what they were since you do not se them in shops.  I explain the story about where I got them etc, and how they are the best lights ever.  After my story, his expression changes as he responds. 

 Him: “Hang on I know you!”

Me: “What?”

Him: “Yeah, you spent some time at 3220 Airport Road.”

Me: “Yeah?”

Him:  “I was the guy who commented on your saddle height.  You changed your handlebars.”

 3220 Airport Road is the address of Boulder County Sherriff’s Office aka the jail.  A month or so ago, I was returning for the day, and someone asked my buddy “Tim” if he had the Pista outside.  I said no it’s mine, he made a joke about how could I reach the pedals. He thought it was “Tim’s” bike since “Tim” is a good 3” taller than me.  What this dudes capacity is at the jail, I have no clue.  It was sort of odd being noticed in public by someone from the jail, and even more strange since it was dark and only talked o him the one time.  I think he noticed my bike more than anything else.  So, we talked a bit as we both headed to our bus stops, both heading to work.

 My commute these days consists of riding my bike 4 miles to downtown Longmont, and catching the 528 AM bus to Denver.  The bus ride takes about an hour, and then I hop on the bike and ride another 5 miles to work, overall it’s not too bad.  Though I can’t wait to move, I will gain 3 hours a day, which Jazmine will appreciate.  One thing I figured out lately is brakes on a bike have their purpose. 

 Over the last few days I have been pushing the envelope more and more riding through the city.  The other day while going to look at apartments I realized I need to get better at skidding, or else I will end up under a car soon.  Friday morning as I am on my way into work I come a series of 4 way stops. I usually just ride through; instead I decide to practice my skid. As I reach work I am getting good, and confident which is key.  After work I do the same on the way home and start to feel a little better about keeping myself from getting hit by a car.

 A few years ago I remember an ex comparing me to a child since every time she came over I was in the street riding my bike.  Friday I was in just such a mood, as I returned to my apartment complex I start screwing around skidding in the parking lot.  I then ride up the side walk to my apartment to finish off with a final skid.  I lean forward, lock my legs, and my pant gets caught in the spokes of the front wheel and I go over the handlebars.  I do this right in front of my neighbor who is sitting on here porch.  I do a little summersault and the bike lands on top of me.  I start laughing at my stupidity; I was not going fast thus the whole thing was very slow.  I look over to the little old lady whose jaw has dropped; she asks if I am alright.   I tell her I am fine, just a little stupid. 

 

Talking to Skippy:

Sunday I was talking to Skippy about my drinking amongst other topics, and I was feeling well sort of grown up.  To clarify I was feeling the situations in my life have grown up, but I am still a child.  We are having this conversation while I am eating chocolate chip cookies, with chocolate milk, while listening to a CD I bought in 1998.  This is not quite the breakfast of a 30 year old male with his life together.  At this point I really started to notice that I have never become an adult.  The real acceptance came when I looked around and noticed my apartment looks like a college dorm.  Bikes, kegorator, dart board, air hockey table, snowboard and a huge stack of dirty dishes.

 I have always prided myself as being young at heart, but really I am just a kid.  I find it funny when asked my age I say I am 30 but it takes a second for me to realize I am not 22 anymore.  While women cling to the age of 29 year after year I always think of myself as 22. 

 I am starting to think its time for a witch hunt to make myself feel better. Back in the 80’s parents attacked Judas Priest and other bands saying their children committed suicide because of the lyrics of their music.  My case is slightly different; I want to sue Rancid, The Casualties, and Social Distortion for keeping me immature and not growing up. 

I actually went to see Rancid in June and I was one of the oldest people at the show. My date (she was 28) and I were discussing how old we were compared to everyone there when I noticed an older guy, male pattern baldness, polo shirt, and khakis.  I point to him as though now I am not old, but she was quick to point out that the little 17 year old next to him was clearly his son.  Now, Rancid is old!  After the show I googled Tim Armstrong’s age (lead singer) he is 42 (think he is 43 now, thinking he was born in November).  They still go out rocking every night though I am sure they have slowed down, and that is all I have ever wanted.  Prior to this past hiccup, I was looking to move to downtown Denver so I could ride my bike everywhere, drink, party, and not have a care in the world.  I wanted to get some mindless jobs, and drive a pedicab (a bike cab) and live life like I was 22. 

 I am moving to downtown later this month, and until 2 weeks ago I was still planning to get a job as a bike messenger and party like I was 22, which would probably lead right back to jail.  Instead, I found a “real job” in which being hung over is not a good idea on many levels.  I know this will not make me a responsible grown up, but I do wonder if it is a small step in becoming an adult.  After all I did throw out a sock, now I will never be able to wear a matching set.     

How I met Betty

April/May 2006

Years ago when I was making too much money, and had plenty to burn, I was talking to Skippy.  Skippy knowing everything that is cool, while also being my bike guru (Second only to Mr. Skippy) starts telling me about track bikes.  Track bikes are the super cool bikes that bike messengers ride, and are super simple, no gears, no brakes etc.  This makes them easy to maintain, and a lower price point to get a decent one.  For weeks, or months I kept procrastinating spending the money while emailed Skippy 5 times a day with links to different ones, and basically being a pain in his ass. 

A few months later Skippy was back in town, I think for a long weekend, from NYC.  I got out of work early that Friday and called seeing if he wanted to go to a bike shop, for no real reason than just something to do.  Reluctantly he agreed and we went to Providence Cycle, where I met in the Celeste colored steel Betty Bianchi.  I had been eyeing the Bianchi Pista for a while, and there she was taunting with her subtle lines. It was nearing closing time, and Betty is closing time pretty any day of the week and those sober ones.

Skippy has a great knack; he is a voice of reason… most of the time.  He is the first one to tell me I am retarded, that I can not resurrect the mullet back from the 80’s, or that opening a bar is not a god idea for me.  Sometimes though he just loves to see me spend money, this way he doesn’t have to spend his.  He starts in with I should buy it, saying he is sick of hearing me talk about track bikes for months that I should finally get one.  His true inspiration was to shut me up, which is most peoples hope.  My final excuse was I did not have the money on me to make the purchase.  I thought I was in the clear when, he responded with he would purchase the bike until we get home when I could pay him back.   I finally break down and get the bike which we were both very excited to ride. 

We get back to his house and try riding the bike which is a little odd since track bikes are different.  Track bikes do not have a mechanical lever brake, you can slow and stop, but it’s not by simply pressing a brake.  As you turn the pedals the chain turns the rear wheel, but they are directly connected if you pedal backwards, you go backwards.  They only a single gear, and if the wheels are turning so are the pedals, there is no freewheel you always have to pedal.   To stop quickly you have to skid which takes a little learning.

How to skid:

To skid takes some practice, and is a touch unnerving. You put all your weight forward, basically putting your crotch on the stem (the piece connecting the handlebars to the fork) and lock up your legs, thus locking the rear wheel. If you do not lean forward the momentum of the rear wheel will lift you up and down with the pedals all the power of the gearing that propels you down the road is now working against you.  This is why you lean forward to un-weight the rear wheel; with little to no friction on the rear wheel you can stop it from spinning.  As you put weight back down on the wheel your locked legs keep the wheel from spinning thus the skid.

 Over the next few weeks I practice skidding, and track standing, when you balance without going forward or backward, but use the chain tension to stay on two wheels.  It’s super cool when you are at a stop light to just balance and wait out the light.

 Two weeks or so later I am riding home and I have maybe a quarter mile left.  I am riding up a small hill at the end of my street, and since I only have a single gear when hills come up its either ride hard or start walking.  I am heading up the hill and as I pull on the upstroke I begin lifting the rear wheel off he ground, which I think is really cool.  The next stroke I do so with more gusto and lift the wheel a few inches off the ground, super cool right?  No, at this point I am a unicycle throwing all that weight forward and lifting the rear wheel unbalances me, and the handlebars turn, not a subtle turn, a 90 degree turn.  What happens when you are going 15 miles an hour and your front wheel in essence stops?  You go over the handlebars.

 Now one of the first rules of cycling is if you fall never take your hands of the bars.  Why? So you don’t dislocate shoulders, or get road rash on the palms of your hands (also the argument for wearing gloves).  Being the cyclist I am I keep my hands on the bars going 15 mph to 0 via my face.  I lost the pictures, it was not pretty, and I hop up feeling like and ass.  I go to ride home when I notice the front wheel is destroyed.  I hop of and start walking when my neighbor who was pulling up the street stops and gives me some napkins.  I carry my bike the quarter mile home with blood pouring from my face.  I pass a neighborhood kid who says “ouch.”  Yes he now goes to MIT because he clearly is a genius.

 I get home and survey the damage. I have road rash all up my face, am missing a big chunk of flesh from the bridge of my nose.  Apparently my sunglasses are stronger than my skin because they were unscathed.  I wound up with road rash on my shoulder, tore my jersey, and random on my arms scrapes.  Not having health insurance, and thinking stitches may be in order I call my mother who was then working fort the Fire Department to see if I can get a consultation.  I drive to the Fire Station, and they put me in the ambulance and start patching me up.  After some discussion about the stitches it is discarded I am given me some bandages and sent home. 

 The next day I have a date, date number 4? Or 5?  In talking that night I am torn if I should say something regarding my fall, I don’t and figure we will go for the surprise angle.  The date we have planned is an adventure race through Boston basically you are given clues run, bus, subway to various locations and take your picture in front of what you think to be the correct answer.  We show up, and here I am puss all over my face as the road rash tries to heal itself. 

 We go through the race finishing next to last but it was a ton of fun.  On the way home we stop for dinner, and go to the bathroom.  I nearly vomit looking at myself; I was a nasty specimen puss al over, covered in sweat and grime, just nastiness all over my face.  I wash up in the sink but anyone who has had road rash knows the puss comes back. You can actually feel it forming, growing and it’s a terrible feeling when it’s on your face, at dinner, on a date.  I return to the table and muster up the words “you are a champ.”  She asked me why, and I explained anyone who can sit across from my puss spewing face, and eat dinner deserves a medal.

Da Prince

Early October 2007

 As the anniversary passes I think back about the funny story that is my piercing.  I intend to keep this story as G rated as possible.

 Sometime around 2004 I got the notion of getting a Prince Albert piercing done.  For those who do not know what it is I suggest google, and be aware it will be graphic.  I did some research and read up on the procedure, aftercare etc.  I looked into a few other piercings but, kept returning to the prince.  At the time I was with "Jill", who was not very receptive of the idea, and she quickly vetoed the notion.  Plus with my friend out of commission for a month, it seemed like too much punishment for myself.   Time passed, I was single and started thinking about the piercing again, did more research etc.  At this point was when I first got my road bike, and well I was not willing to sacrifice the recuperation time, since I was going to be the next Lance Armstrong I couldn’t take time from training.  Soon there after came “Dixie” who would rather I chop it off then put a piece of metal through it.

 Last October I had just got a promotion meaning more money, company phone, etc and I was once again single.  It was time to celebrate so I do the research over again, and look into places in CO to get the piercing done. I decide on the place, and email the company, asking to set up an appointment, 2 days without a response.  I call and I am told I need to talk to a certain person who is not in, they will call me.  2 more days pass and nothing, I call again get through and set up the appointment for a week later, during this time I started seeing someone which I was not going to let her conflict, so I did not mention it to her. 

 That fateful Sunday, I hung out with the girl and then excused myself to go to an “appointment”.  It was a rare rainy afternoon in Boulder when I walk to the piercing and tattoo pallor.  Walking in and telling the person behind the counter I was getting a Prince Albert felt a bit odd in front of a mother and daughter team who were waiting to get tattoos.  I fill out some paperwork, and I am lead to the piercing room which look just like a doctors office setting. This makes me feel as though I am in good hands, combined with the information she was a registered nurse I was comfortable. 

 The woman who is to perform the piercing breaks out the tools, and jewelry etc, and at this point I start feeling a little nervous.  She was great at making small talk etc; but that much sharp stainless steel started freaking me out a bit.  She goes over things, and then starts a quick 2 minute video which shows someone getting pierced.  It was designed to be an instructional video, though a little rough around the edges it cleared up a ton of questions.

 Like most men, I somewhat live in fear of the little fella. He sometimes acts according to his own ideas, and come on, what guy has not worried about this tid bit of information when heading into a massage?  Myself I fear 3 things when I head into a massage 1)snoring (been there done that, and have accepted it) 2) passing gas (not 100% I have but playing the odds I am sure I have) 3) Mini me taking the sensual massage as something entirely different (this I have not had happen but still worry).  Heading into getting the piercing obviously this was weighing in as a possible issue. 

 Just a heads up, the actual procedure is described, so not for the weak of stomach.

 After the video, she asks if I have any questions and mine is just “How bad does this hurt?”  She says most men describe it as a 6/7 out of 10, which I figure is good to hear.  Luckily not a creature was stirring as I dropped my pants, and we get started.  This first step is lubing, and inserting a hollow metal tube into your urethra.  This does not hurt but watching someone do it to you well gets the heart pumping, and works well to start freaking you out. The tube is inserted so when the needle goes through the tip of the needle enters the tube, protecting from accidently poking all sorts of holes in your urethra.

 Now, I have never had my ears pierced, but I believe that’s a one push, tinge of pain and its over with, like a band aid.  This is well not so much a quick band aid situation.  I am thankful for going to yoga quite a bit in my life because this is a little more involved, and well breathing makes it bearable.  It’s a three push process so its basically three stabs each being more painful till finally the needle enters the tube, and well everything feels a lot better.  The tube is removed, and your hoop jewelry is used to push the needle out while putting itself in its place. Then the hoop is in essence closed with a metal bead, it is friction fit, so pliers are used to get the hoop sprung a bit. Yes, having pliers in that general area not so cool. 

 Afterwards, we go over aftercare, which is pretty basic, keep it clean, sea salt fishing etc. I pick up some vitamins hoping to help the process go a little quicker, and off I go home.  Now, as I left I felt pretty bad ass, and feel I am cooler than every other dude on Pearl St right?

 When I get home, I do the cleaning etc, and have a few beers before going to bed.  I awake around 4 am, and recognize I am soaked, in my general pubic area.  My first thought “holy shit, I wet the bed!”  I jump up and turn on the lights to find that in fact I did not wet the bed.  Instead I have my period!  Now, I will never be able to know what a woman goes through during this time of the month, but this is the closest I think a man can come to understanding.  It was 4 days before I did not have to affix some sort of bandage around the wound, and yes I did stain 2 pairs of pants. I also destroyed a set of sheets, a mattress cover, pajama pants and a duvet cover. 

 As the piercing heals I run into a second issue, due to some questionable choices I get an infection.  I did the proper cleaning etc, but just jumped the guy in other areas.  I now have to call my doctor, and get antibiotics.  Calling your doctor, and explaining you got a body piercing and it is infected is not bad until they ask, where you got pierced.  I am on the phone with what sounds like a 40 year old woman, mentioning I got my penis pierced, and it is now infected which felt a little weird.   It was weirder when I go for my appointment and a cute Asian girl is weighing me, blood pressure etc, and she asks me why I came in today.  Then comes the doctor, I drop my pants he looks at it and says “yep, it’s infected”.   Yeah no duh! Hence why I called saying I had an infection.  I am not great at diagnosing things but this one I was pretty sure abut.  I then get my drugs, and it has been happy sailing ever since. 

 I have had it for a year now, and still love it.  I am just glad it does not set off metal detectors I a not sure how you go about proving its not a dangerous weapon.  The other issue is I have to sit when I pee, unless there is a urinal, because like putting your thumb over the end of a hose, you lose your accuracy.

My first day of work in 2 months... well not really.

4 November 2008

Why does anyone drive a car in a city?  Riding to and from work I became one of those cyclists that give us a bad name, I think I might have stopped at one red light.  4 way stop signs translated roughly into look both ways as you keep pedaling through.  It is so much faster to ride than to drive, I bet it would be faster even if I thought about obeying traffic laws.  Maybe that driver education class might be a good idea after all.

 My first day at the new job went well, I was tossed right in working on a simple laundry room, which was cool.  The project is nothing special more just an exercise in learning their methods of doing things.  The guys in the shop are cool, and the general layout is good and the day flew.  Overall I am looking forward to working here and was liking the fact that no one cares when you come or go, which is key. 

Other than that not much happened today, except the a#$holes at High Gear Cycle screwed me again, I hate that place with a passion.  I never mentioned their name previously but dam!  They promised me my wheel would be ready today, I show up 20 minutes before they close.  There is my rim sitting on the floor, and my hub on the bench with my old spokes.  The guy spent 5 minutes looking for the wheel, the entire time I am looking at it in disarray.  He then grabs another guy to help search, they end up finding it exactly where the death rays being shot from my eyes are directed.  The geniuses look at each other and say it’s not done.  I mention I was promised it would be done today, and the only reason they got my business was based on this fact.  Their response is well I don’t know what to tell you, he didn’t leave a note so I don’t know why it is not done.  I really had to control myself, have I really been that spoiled previously?  I mean in the past if I brought in a wheel to be rebuilt it would be done when they said, the only issue would be their trying to sell me a new hub because they know I love buying new crap I don’t really need.  In MA I would have had the wheel done today with a new Phil Wood hub, in CO I have a bunch of pieces.  

On a side note, my hair has grown out and I look like a cross between a bad 70’s actor and a retarded Chia Pet. I have no clue what to do with it, luckily its winter so hats work.  I am also going very gray, which kind of makes me feel old.

Obama just won which kicks ass…. Just a side note!

 

Just another man named Monday

3 November 2008

 Today I managed to get the car situation all sorted out which was amazingly easy.  Saturday had been able to find someone who was not a moron it would have been but 5 minutes.  What Saturday cop mentioned was an ordeal going to 2-3 different agency’s and then going to the impound this all turned into something a lot simpler.  Yes, telling them the date my car was towed, the vehicles make and model, and show my ID.   I then signed a piece of paper, and went to the impound lot, which was a mater of showing my ID, rather simple.  The amazing thing is after a little persuading they let me go grab some stuff out of my car, and yes my IPOD was still in there as well as my garage opener which was going to cost me $45.00.

 Later in the afternoon I had the pleasure of my intake into my classes, which included 4 tests asking about alcohol use, and yes these are all the same questions I have answered before.  This turned into a 2 hours waste of my time because no one reads this crap.  All my programs including therapy are in a group, the people all work there 15 hours a week, no one gives a shit.  They are not going home reading my file and thinking this is a case of “Sunday Neurosis” the best treatment would be to…  Now, the just put all the papers into a folder so when I go on a multi-state killing spree then can look at the file and go hmmm… yeah he is an alcoholic. 

 The highlight of the episode was when she was running through a series of questions which I had lied 3 times in a row on the one I finally tell the truth she says “why do I not believe you?”  I begin thinking because since the previous 3 responses were crap my tone gave something away?  Needless to say I am becoming cynical of the entire process. 

 The first 24 hours of classes is drivers education which I think is great.  I know hitting trees is not how you drive, it was the fact I was three times the legal amount of alcohol that had something to do with the hitting the tree.  I totally meant to get pics of the car today but spaced.  Needless to say it is pretty much done.  Imagine a Honda Element, now looking from above imagine a dent 4 feet wide going into the center about 18 inches, and you got the idea. The horn of the frame was popping out on the passenger’s side.  For those of you looking to buy an Element, they seem to be very safe the bugger got slammed and took the hit.  Otherwise functionally speaking they are great vehicles, I loved mine. 

 

 

"On the Road"

August 2008

In August I started thinking about moving to Denver for number of reasons and as I was working one day I remembered that Jack Kerouac mentions Denver quite a bit in “On the Road” which I had not read in some 12 years if not longer. When I was 15/16 I had a thing for all the beatnik writers Burroughs, Kerouac, Ginsberg, Cassidy, and so forth.   I had not read any of them recently but the draw of the move propelled me to revisiting the book. 

One weekend while picking up an enormous bag of dog food I ran next door to grab “On the Road” to help rekindle my interest in reading, and to excite me about he move.  I noticed that the amount I drank was inversely proportional to the amount I read so by August I was not reading anything but instructions of how to cook French Fries in a conventional oven.  In hopes of getting out of my funk I picked up the first copy I saw which apparently is the new and improved version, the “original scroll”. When the book was originally written it was typed on a continuous piece of paper with no breaks for paragraphs so when you laid it out it looked like a road.  This version was printed as such to be the best representation of what Kerouac envisioned. 

I think we can all agree that the book is an American classic, now I have but one issue with the copy I purchased. This version of the book is a total of 299 pages in which Kerouac wrote.  I sat down and started reading the prologue and after 2 pages stared getting bored. I then start skipping forward to when it will end.  I think most will agree that forwards are a touch dry, after all they are telling you why the book you just picked up is great, it should be short and sweet.  After 2 pages of this particular forward I am bored to tears, all the interesting information was used up in 2 paragraphs the writer then continues to suck on the imaginary teat of Kerouac.

As I mentioned the book contains 299 pages written by the author, they found it necessary to include 107 pages of forwards, written by 3 different people!  Saying this infuriated me is an understatement.  I already bought the book why do I need 107 pages to tell me that a book is great?  I already spent the 17 dollars what do they care now?  They made the sale just let me enjoy the book now.  Is the publisher’s idea of service after the sale? Is the idea in padding the book with a huge forward to make it appear to be a better value?   

The Uneventful Weekend

1 + 2 November 2008

As the title clearly states not much has been going in these parts this weekend.  I did ride 20 miles to Lafayette to see if I could get my car released from impound and this turned into a fiasco.  I show up at the Police station which is closed, Saturday afternoon all the doors are locked you have to pick up a phone which you can hear ringing on the other side of the glass.  After about 5 rings it continues to ring, though you can no longer hear it on the other side of the glass.  Someone finally answers and I explain that I need a form to release my car; the gentleman asks if I am at the station.  Which yes I am, I wanted to ask if he was taking a nap on his couch at home, but refrained.  After about 10 mins someone comes to the door who answers every question with come back Monday between 8-5.  Literally, every question, when he realizes I have nothing better to do than keep asking questions all day he s-l-o-w-l-y begins to answer questions.  Since he was not in uniform I suppose the serve part does not apply to his creed. 

 On my bike ride home I started questioning how I got arrested on a weekend, poor cop probably got the call, and since nothing was on TV he figured he would respond.  If only a good episode of “3’s Company “was on that faithful night I would be free today.

Saturday night I was putting on my killer new tires when I notice a broken nipple, so my wheel is out of true. This is not a big issue except in Longmont, CO since no bike shops are open, and the only one that is does not offer any service. As you walk through the door, they have their mission statement on the door which states that their goal is to promote cycling and their goal is to making cycling as enjoyable as possible, through excellent service.  I have been in this shop 4 times, and every time they proceed to disappoint me further.  The guy mentions he can’t fix it today so I ask for a nipple, and in making sure the size is correct I notice… 1, and 2 broken nipples. I grab two nipples, and head of to blow.

 I get to the place, and I am early so I am waiting when an older gentleman that I can smell at 5 feet of Gin strong enough to make me nauseous. He is telling me he used to be on the Mongoose pro mountain bike team, as well as he has lost his drivers license until 2012.  He starts talking about how he came down Flagstaff Mountain at 100 mph! Those who know Flagstaff now the speed is possible (?) if it were a straight shot.  Instead there are 25 (?) cut backs to be negotiated or else you find the very fast way down the mountain.  This was all comical to me, he leaves smoking a cigarette saying we should go for a bike ride sometime.  He at this point as trouble balancing on two feet, forget two wheels. 

 I went in and blew, and rode home, and start replacing the nipples; upon closer inspection I notice 1, 2, 3, 4, and YES 5! Broken nipples, so now the wheel though some how got me home safely is clearly not designed to be ridden.  This puts a huge damper on getting my car out of impound tomorrow since I need to get the wheel repaired in order to go to work.  Why not use my road bike you may ask? A side story is I sold my brakes to Skippy before recognizing one of my back up brake calipers does not work with my frame.  I now have a single brake mounted on my road bike so I can get o my meetings tomorrow, and get the other tire fixed. 

 I also would like to ask why is it dark at 5pm now?  Damn farmers.