So the wifeage last night, in a fit of rage at my reaction to the portion of dinner she served me decided the best way to show her displeasure was to start in on the knock-knock jokes. Two things really hurt. Getting in and out of bed and laughing. Both create this unbelievable pain in my chest like I've never felt before. So she says, "knock-knock." Running for my life, or at least walking in a very controlled but intentional manner, I head in any direction away from her. Easy for her to keep up she follows me and says, "well I guess I'll have to answer that myself. Who's there," she says. Trying desparately not to listen and trying to find anywhere to hide, I continue on my rather pathetic escape route. "Boo," she continues just behind me. Cornered with no where to turn, she moves in for the kill. "BooWho?," almost miniacally laughing now. And she finishes me off with, "BooHoo, my name is John and I can't ride a bike for the life of me." I burst in laughter and wince in pain all at once. Left helplessly at the end of the hallway clutching my chest trying not to laugh or cry, I can see a wry smile form at the corners of my wife's mouth. Someday I will get my revenge. For now, please don't make me laugh. Needless to say, shortly thereafter I was popping the Vicodin like Rush Limbaugh. Trying like hell to break it off, but with my wife and her antics, it's a little more complicated than I thought.





So it's no secret that I am shameless when it comes to raiding the Griffociraptors garage when I need a weapon or two. The BlueByYou is one of my favorites and one that I rode to excellence in the Madera Stage Race TT this year. Griff has decided to upgrade to a full blown aero model and "Blue" is headed for the scrap heap. I contemplated buying the bike outright, but later I found out that all the parts and wheels were put onto the new model. Nothing is left except for the frame. It was then that Griff advised me that he was turing "Blue" into a windchime. His plans call for him to hack it up and tie strings to it with a sprocket, or some such nonesense, in the middle to make the clatter. He thinks it's a really good idea. I think he would be better served to climb up the tallest building he can find in Sacramento, and with a bull horn, announce to the world that he is indeed a full fledged bike geek. What's next, a sprocket tattoo on the calf? Maybe a chain around the bicept? How about a license plate frame that says, "My Other Car is a Trek?" I like biking as much as the next guy, but I feel no need to go to the lengths that some of us go. I remember in college some of the guys getting tat's of oars on the ankle. The frat guys used to get their house letters tattooed on their ass. Where are they now and how do they feel about that? Pretty silly I'm sure. Why not cut to the chase and get a winning pinochle hand tattooed to your arm? That's where were all headed, right? In fact, here is a list of the tattoos that I should have gotten along the way:

-A football. Probably on my bicept.
-A baseball. Somewhere near my football.
-A polevault. Somewhere near my football and baseball.
-A fishing rod. Somewhere near my football, baseball, and polevault.
-A Boy Scout Eagle Award. Ankle? This is akin to calling yourself a bike dork.
-An Oar. Popular choice seems to be the ankle based on evidence. Suppose on the opposite ankle from the Eagle Award.
-A Dart. No where near my butt.
-A basketball. Coolest of the tats the ball would be part way through the hoop complete with net. Left chest.
-A Sprocket. Calf.

Don't anticipate going homo, but if I do, I'm reserving the small of my back for something. In any event, hope you are well. I think the Vicodin maybe got a hold of this post today. Yikes.

Johnny GoFast