Columns: Insane and Wet

Am I truly insane? A couple of nights ago, I had this crazy dream: I was sitting on my porch like the good redneck that I am (but it wasn't really where I live now). With me is Anne-Caroline Chausson. We're just hanging out. The real kicker is, Greg Herbold is my neighbor and he's kickin' it on his porch with Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. WTF? Now that I think about it, we were all watching this huge, big-screen TV near my lawn, waiting for Wrestlemania to start, but since I never ordered the damn show from the satellite company it all went to static just as the first match was ready to begin. I know that there are many things fundamentally wrong with this picture, not in the least having H-Ball as a neighbor. If anyone can tell me what this means, let me know. I think it's either my fascination with professional wrestling eating away at my brain, or too many bad Budweisers from Coconuts down the street. But I have been wrong before...

Two major happenings just transpired telling me it's fall: I shattered on a ride so bad that it left a crater the size of The Big Show's ass across Saddleback Ridge. Also, just last weekend I got my chamois soaked for the first time this year. The big blow? Well, what was supposed to be a five-hour mountain bike ride across what seemed like every mountain in South Orange County turned into a four-hour affair that was quite a bit less in distance than originally planned. I was a broken man by the one-hour mark and it spiraled downward from there. Since this ride seemed to be, oh, 90-percent uphill, it was a grim day. Two hours in, I was granny-gearing middle-ring climbs; two hours and 45 minutes into the ride I was off the bike, walking up what should have been middle-ring climbs. I did go back two weeks later and complete the ride, and realized I just rode up a piece of trail in the big ring that I walked up on the earlier attempt.

Believe it or not, we actually got rain here in SoCal. I had made plans to ride about 100 miles on the road with Jason Leith from Shimano at 8:30 a.m. last Sunday. First I looked outside and saw wet streets, and then I stepped outside into sloppy drizzle. Knowing that Jason has a tendency to sometimes not show up for early morning rides, I went about working on bikes in the garage thinking that he wouldn't show. As luck would have it, he picks this wet Sunday to turn over a new leaf. Promptly at 8:30, he showed up. "It's raining." I said.

"No, it isn't. Besides, it's gonna clear up," weatherman Jason tells me. "Alright, I'll ride this cyclocross test bike. Shit. It has no bottlecage eyelets. I guess I'm on my own road bike. It's gonna clear up, you say?"

"Clear up," my ass. All but the last 20 miles was wet, alternating from drizzle to actual rain. My bike looked like it had just been dragged through a dairy farm.

I know most of you are thinking I'm a big wuss...and I am. Especially since even in the rain it was warm enough to just wear shorts, a light un-de-shirt and a jersey. A lot of you are snowed in now, and those who aren't are facing near-freezing temperatures. Hell, I've been getting up at 5:30 in the morning to ride and have only been wearing a jersey and shorts. I don't even carry a vest or jacket. So go ahead, call me names-I deserve it. I will not complain anymore about being wet because of some tropical shower here in suntan paradise. I just heard it might rain again this Sunday. Hmmm, I wonder where my rollers are?