Wednesday, February 24, 2010

A pivotal moment of rare clarity...

Last night, as I rode my trusty Pugsley along the North Shore trail, a great sense of poignant well being befell me. The snow-trail was rock hard, the brilliant stars were out in full regalia, the vivacious deer frolicking and bounding hither and thither, and thusly I acutely felt the full effect that is the sheer joy of backcountry velo-movement.
Suddenly, an incomprehensible saline solution began to flood my eyes. Of course, as a man, this was a disconcerting phenomenon. Mallory, nor Shackleton, never wept! Dumbfounded, I attempted to ascribe meaning to this inexplicable and decidedly unDBD-like emotional display. Were the tears a simple response to stimuli— Perhaps, a physical manifestation of my newly (and painfully) reconfigured and less than attractive left big toe? No, for I have embraced my new “leaner meaner” appendage. Itz slightly necrosed appearance now acts as a reminder of the consequences of unbridled hubris.

Did the tears stem from the realization that these lovely winter rides are coming to a speedy close with the encroachment of the spring melt? No, for I love riding in the spring gravel classics nearly as much... I was confused, my pace slowed, thankfully it was cold, so the trail was mine alone.

Then as if providentially sent, I knew the source of my tears! I was crying tears of unrestrained sympathy for my training mates for they have resorted to spending hours upon hours of mundane drudgery on their fancy-pants trainers whist glued to their television sets watching those shockingly-spoiled-saggy-panted sissyboarders do their little pony tricks for the masses...My dear training mates had been taken in, like so many others, by the manufactured hysteria surrounding these somewhat acrobatic juvenile delinquents!

The source of the tears was my realization of their missing-out on this amazing cycling experience when it is so close at hand and yet so fleeting. The tragedy of their misguided priorities had caused me to become emotionally overwhelmed, for I am at my essence a pack-rider.

Thankfully a shot of Stranahan’s Colorado Whiskey brought me back to my senses. Fortified, I continued on...stalwart in focus and solid in the knowledge that I cannot change the world...and that I needed to simply embrace the here-and-now... I have made an appointment with an ENT doc to have my tear-ducts once again removed!!!


  1. That is the reason I need to move closer to the DBD headquarters.

  2. Last week I asked the doc to tell me a sad story so I could weep one last time before he removed the portion of my brain that controls emotion. I am lighter now, I am void of feeling, I am without tears. I only know the ROAD.

  3. Dear Tim: Did insurance cover that procedure? How much weight did you loose? Are you faster?

  4. Do your toes get cold anymore?

  5. Thank you for the timely message. Yesterday I nearly bought a set of rollers. In my absentmindedness I had nearly forgotten that the real rollers are just a couple of miles outside of town.

  6. Utter conviction. My rollers are going on Ebay.

  7. The only rollers I have are in my hair...I didn't mean that...

  8. An Ode to a Forsaken Toe...

    I miss my old toe
    Me new one pains me so

    I have grown old
    and Yes Ari it does get

  9. I think I need to move further north. Hey Jeremy if you need any more rollers I have some pink ones left over from Mush For A Cure :-)

  10. The new Toe that is growing is going to be like the golden hair that gave Atlas his strength. Let it follow its course.ari

  11. Charlie...thank God that you had that whiskey with you! If they'd have found you frozen in a pool of tears I would cried myself.