And The Enemy Goes To...

Man, do I miss Keith Olbermann. Have I got a candidate for "The Worst Person in the World...."!

For the past few days he resided at 4506 ONP. It's a nice sized family restaurant up for grabs. $979k. So if you have a cool Mil lying around could I appeal to your centses?

Really, someone needs to buy this joint. To get rid of its owner if nothing else. Is it any wonder the grease pit went under? With owners like that who needs customers?

There's this little bike race that spans the land, it's called RAAM. For the past few years the over sized parking lot of this boarded up abandoned building served as an oasis in a fiercely fought fight.

Many a weary traveler has collapsed behind the wheel before the roar of an overworked engine even came to a purr. The hood of their home never so much as cooling before whisking away once again in a crazy race to the finish.

But this Saturday that all came to an end. When the Meanest Man in the World laid claim to his empty, unused, abandoned piece of asphalt. Closing it off to any and all.

Pourquoi? Por que? Zakaj? Waarom? Varfor? Perche? Exactly.

All I can think is he wanted to be not just an asshole, but a Globally known Asshole. Mission Accomplished. And Restaurant still Empty.

Put the R in RAAM

Jure Robic
1965 - 2010
5 Time RAAM Winner

Hillacious

Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap brick walls in a single speed...They are indeed a different breed of rider....

Oh, I got my chain handed to me today. It's okay, it was D. And I'm not competitive. Or a SuperRider

I KNOW! Why would she want to ride with me??!!? She's just that kind of girl. And as I was lapped over and over again I never once thought, hey I SUCK. I mean she rode across the country! I just ride to work.

She stayed with me. And I thought I was doing okay. I mean I'd look up, watch her climb, look down (FOR ONE SECOND), and the next thing I knew, I was hitting a brick wall! Who put that there!? In the middle of the road! It wasn't there two seconds ago.

No, I'm good. I was hanging back here to practice my track stand. I think next I'll check in on Granny. You go on and take that business call while I drop back and lick the salt off my own face. I'm sure this cramp will pass. Maybe on the next hill.

Yeah, no. Apparently I don't have another hill in me. Could you point me in the direction of the nearest lemonade stand? Thanks.

Can't See Good

When I was but a wee tot, I sat on the floor of our trailer and ate my supper of butter noodles in front of the teevee. Buttered racing wheels to be exact.

In a style of humor I still don't understand, my father used to stand between me and the television completely blocking my view. I would say, "Mr Dada: Can't see good," or so I've been told.

But this entry is about glasses. Sun glasses. And how mine came to be lost. Not so much lost as left. I know exactly where they are. I believe it was Highway 160.

It went like this: I got a text. It said, You look cute in sunglasses, however, I can't see your pretty eyes. I then proceeded to stick my head out the window and phwawmpt they were gone.

I watched them tumble right off my head, onto the road, like desert tumbleweed bouncing through the wind. I pulled myself back into the house, sat down, and sent a reply. Okay fine, glasses....gone.

And then I made myself a plate of buttered noodles.

Day Seventh Heaven

6 Days 5 Hours 21 Minutes.

Really? It seems so much longer. And shorter. 3000 miles later I became a different person.

I may not be able to remove myself from a past box, but I can certainly fashion myself a new one. I do not need to hide in it. I do not need to stand upon it. I could have used it to see over the steering wheel, however.

I was able to see things from a different view...yes, even there in the teensy Arvee kitchen. A much broader, less isolating view. I am ready to let go. I am ready to move on.

The June gloom is lifting, and the country looks pretty damn awesome.

Day eighty Six the Bitch

[FLOAT: left] Definitely: Align Photo LEFT.

This was a puppy we saw in Tuba City. It was sad. And alone. And hungry. Everyone said, awww.

In Blanchester Ohio it was blue and orange and blonde all over. And looked a lot like Janna. She was scared. And alone. And phoneless. Everyone said, whoooo?

"I was checking the leaderboard" Oh, it's cool, but if she ever turns up missing: WE HAVE HER HERE! "Well, you should put someone in charge when you're not in the RV..." I DID, YOU LEFT HER BEHIND!!!

Why exactly are we taking a head count if we aren't counting actual heads? We are All Wheels 4 Fibromyalgia, nobody ever called us Marines. Besides it's no child left behind; once you're an adult you are apparently oYo. Pedal fast!

Priceless. The look on the shuttle crew's face when Janna rolled up next to us and poked her flushed cheeks out some stranger's car. Flashbacks of Romper Room. I see blue. I see orange. Why do I see Janna??

Can I come in? Should I go to the RV? HELLS NO! They are the ones that left you behind. We'll take you! Get in! Don't tell Karl.

oYo....On Your Own.

Day Five Hour Energy

10 MILES OUT!
Pasta!
Meat!
Veggies!
Nuts?
Sure!
If it's edible, throw it in the bowl! Stir, heat, serve.
3 MILES OUT!

I don't take orders. I don't make substitutions (unless you are a rider). I don't serve you. I cook, clean, repeat. NO SOUP FOR YOU!

I took a trip across the country and all I got was this limited view. see above. I heard about tarantulas. Sunsets. Beautiful mountains. Sand dunes. I saw a stove, sink, and pans.

And pasta. Lots of pasta. And water bottles. One more water bottle ends up in MY sink and someone is going to eat plastic for dinner!

Mmm...Y I think you've outdone yourself this time, what do you call this? Pastic du Journey. It's a little tough when it's cold.

Once I ran out of meat and tried cutting up my thumb for protein. Instant red sauce. Just add jalapenos. Owie.

Don't knock ham in a can until you've tried it. NO it's NOT Spam!

Day Four Caution

Okay, let's recap. One broken hand. One blocked intestine. One hell of a hematoma the size of my noggin. Batman needs his rabies shot today.

And we've got a rider who can't ingest anything except air. She is crossing the Rockies on nothing but saliva. And still smoking the competition.

Watching a team fall into the pits of sleep deprivation is an amazing thing. The simplest tasks become impossible challenges. Sentences contain questionable English. Skills become weak. Drowsiness abounds. Your own words sound distant and foreign.

Now, go balance yourself on an 8 lb carbon bicycle. Perch yourself behind the wheel of a closely following automobile. Fire up the engine on that massive Arvee. These are not the ideal pastimes of a sleepy individual.

Hell, all I did was ungracefully dismount the bed and I wound up with the dark side of the moon on my ass! All I'm saying is shit happens.

Take the RV we saw entering into Pagosa Springs. Crumpled side, crushed front, living room furniture on the highway like they stopped for a picnic. It's true. Scary reminder. No serious injuries but inevitably DNF.

This ain't no cross country tour!

Day Three's Company

Five's a crowd. I mean how many fingers do you need, really?

I didn't take the call. I heard she. And splint. Supplies. On the flats? Denise went down on the flats? A splint? Around handlebars?

Our McGyvers flew into action. Foam handlebar tape? Q-tips? Tampon applicator? I was willing to spare my precious supply. In the end we settled on emory board.

This was turning out to be quite the journey. And we were making gloves out of nothing at all. Out of nothing at all I tell you!

Turns out it wasn't a rider after all. And we were lucky. The track stands were more dangerous than originally presented. I guess that's why they call 'em break cables.

What does her jersey say: SAFETY??

Day Two Much Fun

It's the next hit reality series. I know I've blogged this before. Ten people in an RV, vote one out, make them ride...

I mean it really did feel like the Amazing Race. Change the directions to clues and you could have something.

But just it in itself is worthy of a season. Throw some cameras in Arvee and just watch 19 people coexist under extreme conditions for a week.

Surprisingly I'm not sure we'd have good ratings. We got along entirely too well. There will be the issues at the end, the injuries along the way, those unchosen few left behind...

We laughed, we cried, we spooned. See who did what to whom when. Tune in to see how we manuevered our way out of an issued penalty. FYI: There is crying in RAAM.

Kate Plus Eighteen....check your local listings.

My lucky stars, looky what I found at the end of the rainbow! A heart of gold.

Day One Man Down

Just because I escaped Oceanside unscathed does not mean all is well on the mobile home front. Even before the race officially started AW4F was in the sick of it.

Somewhere east on 78 the photographer was tossing cookies. And the germophobes were spinning. And the crew chief was lying.

The poor guy was really sick. And I'll be honest no one was about to risk the race in the first hour. They wanted to kick him out right there in the desert. "Get him out of the RV!" they pleaded. "Put him in the car!" "He'll contaminate the riders!" "Quarantine him Quick!"

Let's calm down. We can't put him in the rider car, let's be rational. He's not contagious. Here's where I start to lie. My extensive medical background indicates he has merely eaten something that is not agreeing with him...we are all safe from meandering germs. But wash your hands. Often. With bleach.

I take one look at him. His gaunt face. The inset eyes. The black circles. This dude is SICK! No one wants him around. He paces the RV. He lays here, there, and everywhere. We are in trouble. Even if he isn't contagious I have a serious scare on my hands and I need to deal with it.

Arizona! This is the answer. He has family in AZ. Speedrace them to Blythe I don't think we can wait one more TS. The first team in gets no rest, voices concern, doesn't want to touch anything.

We don't have enough bungees to affix them all to the outside of Arvee. Nor could they withstand the desert heat. I have visions of National Lampoons RAAM Vacation.

Now I missed the actual departure due to leaving in the follow vehicle in Blythe, but I heard the tale. Poor guy, his family didn't make it in time and we had to skedaddle.

Now I don't mean to make light of a serious situation, but I'm quite certain if the shopping cart were turned and the photographer weren't sick we'd have one or two or twenty four pictures of the event.

So there goes AW4F racing away on Highway 10. The photographer deserted in the darkened, empty parking lot of Albertsons. His gear and possessions shoved in a shopping cart like a bum on a street corner.

He really was sick. And I wish we could have done more. But getting him out was a blessing. He ended up in the hospital all week with a blocked intestine. Avoided surgery and is recovering nicely.

And then there were 19.

Riders Block

6 days 11 hours 16 minutes

Cinderfella

Beauty is a treasure, but graciousness is priceless.

Without it nothing is possible; with it, one can do anything.

If You Can't Beat 'em, Cheat 'em

Perception is reality. I heard this over and over, like a reminder, a discovery, an Effingham nuisance. While I appreciate the concept, I did not spend four emotionally exhausting hours in therapy expunging that imaginary box just to jump back in.

Perception affects the outcome of reality, but only reality IS reality. RAAM is reality on steroids. The behaviors you are accustomed to controlling seep out in semi-consciousness. Biker beware.

Case in point. The Surfer Boys were all set to win at well over 20mph. And although it may appear that east of Ole Miss AW4F was well ahead of TSH, this was not reality, or was it? What exactly IS real? Please define ‘is’.

Illinois, Ohio, WVA, Annapolis Maryland. Ahead, in front, beating, first. And yet behind. Not making sense? Now, you’re following. Here’s the scoop, or my best attempt at it.

Back in maybe Illinois ( I can’t be sure the stats indicate no deviation), rumor has it the Surfer boys got aggressive and ran into TSH’s van. TSH stayed to fill out an accident report for breaking another rider’s ankle, how sweet. To the best of my knowledge nothing was filed about breaking anyone’s pride.

It appears, and tends to reason, their rider rode on. THE STATS INDICATE NO DEVIATION. The Surfer boys, collecting their surf boards and road tattered egos, ditched the bikes and abandoned their Gucci tour bus (if we had only known).

They may have fared well in Chillicothe where the streets became rivers. The expert parking of one skilled Arvee driver put AW4F under protection at a closed gas station and beside a 24 hour joint(I get that now). Where again, we ran into TSH and found out the truth about the rumored ran over cyclist.

Somewhere around this point one TSH rider came to one AW4F rider and explained the position of our teams. “We are in different divisions, how ‘bout letting us go ahead of you?”

“Yeah, no, we are not interested in functioning like that,” said the competitive German.

Lo and behold just before Maryland we learned of an interesting development. TSH was awarded a 50 minute credit. For hitting another rider? It appears to be true, our perceptuous bubble poppeth.

And although it also appears to be true that we crossed the finish line afore them, perception is indeed NOT reality. Hit a Rider, Get a Credit. On what page was that rule again?

Navigashun

I have never been a fan of Mini Driver. I am a Nancy Naysayer. I love me some JPS; GPS, don't get me started.

Color me O.L.D. Give me some good old fashioned Migratory Accordion Paperwork. That's MAP for you young textual acronymphs. Origami for the cartographically challenged.

Yeah, Nancy and I had a love/hate relationship. She hated when I got off route, and I loved to tell HER where to go.

"Arrive at destination" was more of a loose interpretation. Once, twice, three times Lady, I sat bolt upright from a deep nap, looked out the windshield, and proclaimed, "THIS ISN'T THE TIME STATION! It's 3 miles down the road at a Go Mart on the right." Chew on that Nagging Nancy.

There were countless recalculating pauses along the roadside, the broken computer screen, a lost route book. Hath no fear; GPS is no match for our Sleepigator. She, too, will make an appearance before race end.

More than one driver forgot the correct usage of U.S. Joe Road Sign. "Stay on 54" does not mean "Go straight 54 miles". My bad, I should have been more specific.

How 'bout the time I heard "right down the road" and awoke to a hokey pokey sensation, no store in sight? The blind leading the blind out, trusting no more than a vertigo stricken Nancy? "Turn right in .4 mile. Turn left in .2 mile. Please proceed to the highlighted route." The subsequent game of Fuck, Fuck, Truce?

"Did anyone get that on film?" As the vehicles and riders swarmed Time Station 23 like clowns in tiny cars, team CBS scribe struggled to keep up. "Could you repeat that for the script?" And they say this stuff doesn't write itself.

This could very well be the next Great Amazing GrrrRace. Part Survivor, part Big Brother, part Abbott and Costello.

Who's at the time station first?
What? Wait a second.
I don't know, where's TS23?

Could I please vote someone out of Arvee?

Honest Arvee Engine

Have I mentioned RAAM makes you stupid?

We were starting to run into soloists. Phew, they looked rough. Braces to hold up their necks, but what about their brains? That's what the crew is for.

Hope that's not true of the teams. Here we were, a group of eleven, stacked in the Arvee like sardines doing 360s in the parking lot of the Schnucks. The 24 Hour Super Center.

"I wonder if it's open?"
"It doesn't look open."
"Where are you going?" said the girl to the Jiminator.
"?" his reply.
"There, at the Super Center; we should see if it's really closed."
"It looks closed."
"Maybe it's open."
"Do you see a sign?"

Eleven people like sardines in an Arvee lapping the parking lot like it's a NASCAR track unable to discern if the 24 Hour store is in fact open.

Yeah, she sees a sign... 24 HOUR SUPER CENTER "24 Hour. What do you think that means?"

"I think it's open 24 Hours," concludes the crew.

Or You Might Be On RAAM

You might be a redneck if you've....

1. Washed laundry in a Walmart bathroom

2. Dried clothes from a wheel mount bike rack

3. Washed dishes on a parking lot curb

4. Lived in an undersized apartment on wheels

5. Used overturned shopping carts as lounge chairs

6. Washed your hair in a gas station sink

7. Invited others to see the nicest restroom you've ever peed in

8. Used a bike rack tie as a hair band

9. Drawn a Walmart and Arvee on a postcard for accuracy

10. Bathed in a capitol fountain

Third Law of Emotion

A black hole occurs when a star collapses, or so the theory goes. I think it’s not being able to support themselves against gravity and holes in the black asphalt or something like that, I’m not an astrophysicist. It’s definitely about stars exhausting fuel. And I know this: a nonrotating collapsed star cannot survive RAAM especially without fuel.

Here’s a thought, if you could just perpetually heed the schedule our stars will not collapse. One bottle Perpetuem. One bottle Heed. You need not test it on your wrist. Powder, water, shake.

It seems as easy as following the white line. There’s a schedule. It’s typed. It’s color coated. It’s posted everywhere. If I could tattoo it inside your eyelids I would, that way I know you’d see it. It’s as easy as following the trite sign.

FOR EVERY INACTION THERE IS A QUARRELING OPPOSING REACTION.

Sir, I…one, two, three, four…AM counting to 10, but this new ton of irritation is distracting me. Besides it’s not working and neither are you. Might we put aside these lessons in math and science and get back to RAAM?

Yo, Einstein, help me help you. When you don’t do your job, I can’t do my job. Here’s one for your analytical mind, a snowball formed in the desert and it will roll uphill.

If force A lays around doing nothing and force B picks up the slack, at what time will the two forces collide? Can you say day three??

Ready, Set, Glow

Follow the white line. What's so hard about that? Simply put, that is our strategy, oh, and never, never stop pedaling. There is no coasting in RAAM.

Unless you need to adjust. And you WILL need to adjust. There is rearranging in RAAM. RAAM gives moleskin a new place to rest. And the chicken dance takes on a whole new meaning.

But RAAM also makes you stupid. The white line is a great guide, but it moves. Thoughts dance, curbs jump, addition becomes physics. Think often. Think early. Take notes. Follow the white line. Make a schedule. Plan the alternatives. Rinse, cycle, repeat.

Sand Box Derby is not a place to be lost. It's just you and the white line for miles and miles and miles. Beneath the glow of the milky way, at the base of looming dunes, taillights offer no uniquity. Your cyclist looks exactly like the 50 other cyclists along the same stretch of bland, sandy road, if you even see them.

Our ingenious multicolored accessories, a complete bust. Dwarfed amid the immensity of the night. Ahha. The race was young. We were still smart. We could think beyond the white line. Our radios and odometers replaced the glow necklaces with even more accuracy and we were found.

But there will be the day when we lose calm, clear headed Denise. I thought it impossible. C'est possible. The sun is shining; the clock screaming, Good Morning. We walk around in a haze.

Denise hesitates and stares. We stare back. "Are we in nighttime riding," she asks. I'm not sure I understand the question. Janna steps up, "It's 930 Sweetie." "So, will there be nighttime riding this leg?" she asks again, clutching her light. No, no, I think the high desert sun will work just fine.

In One Peace

It’s like when you were 10 and you had a date with a rollercoaster first thing in the morning. More on the anxiety side of that however. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to wait. Let’s just get 'er done.

My effort to be sent home was foiled. I didn’t even know it would be a possibility. But there is a plane ticket with my name on it. Someone was getting on a plane hell or high water.

Yes, Mr. Murphy I deserve that 2 in courtesy and tact. In fact, can an evaluation contain a ¼? I call it honest; I don’t have time for tact.

There was confrontation, there were accusations, there was an episode of turrets. I spoke my mind, then didn’t speak at all. How would I survive this week?

Here we were in sunny California, on the beach, beer in hand, showered, fed, well rested and we had issues? Oh good god! I can only image how we will handle each other in three days.

Please send me home. I cannot do this. I am not a leader. I do not take charge. I am not respected. People do not listen to me. I don’t want to learn anymore. I want to go home and hide in my sheets.

I don’t want to fail this team. I don’t want to let Denise down. I don’t want to call jk in tears of frustration and failure. I don’t want to lose my cool. I don’t want to get in Arvee with that person.

Three, two, one, Focus. No one has to like you. You just have to get them across the country and through day three. In one piece. GO.