The Last Freerider

Y'know how they say life imitates art? Well last month my life imitated The Last Starfighter, that flick where some kid is so good at playing a video game that he gets recruited by an alien army commander to save the world. If you really wanna break it down, I guess The Last Starfighter isn't really art, so let's just say life imitated a B movie from the '80s.

It started like this: I had just finished an epic ride and was reclining with a six-pack of Milwaukee's cheapest and the modern alternative to meaningful relationships, a Sony PlayStation 2. I had just bought Downhill Domination, the mountain bike video game, and was already making my mark in the video game racing world. Eventually I won enough races to unlock all the players, so I switched to Tara Llanes because you get to hear her actual voice dubbed-in while you race.

Tara was ripping it up for me on screen, saying "Bustin' big air!" when we were on point and "Face it, you suck," when I wiped out too much. I was in the process of dialing in my indian-air combo when the front door opened. I didn't even bother to look up.

"Gar Gulmanuts?" the guy asks.

"Wouldn't touch 'em with a stick," I tell him, but I still don't look up because Tara is telling me to face it, I suck, so it was kind of bad timing for a conversation.

"Gar, we are prepared to offer you a full sponsorship contract as a professional freerider and downhill racer on our planet."

So that's when I had to pause the game and look up, because now I'm thinking it's the tile-setter from next door and damned if I'm going to let him "borrow" any more of my markers. It wasn't the tile-setter, though, it was Isaac, the bartender from "The Love Boat."

"Whoa, you're Isaac, the bartender from 'The Love Boat,' " I state the obvious all the time; it's what I do best.

"No," he corrects me. "I have manipulated my appearance, so as not to frighten you."

"Why? What do you really look like?"

"Aunt Bea from 'The Andy Griffith Show.' "

"Wise decision. Try Tara Llanes next time."

"We're looking for someone who can do some demos and competitions and be a talking head for our company," he says. "You'll have to move to our planet."

"Do I need to save the world or anything?"

"Well, it isn't in your contract, but you'll get a bonus if you do save the world and a picture of it makes the cover of a major publication. Double if our company logo is visible."

Sounded good to me, so I left a note saying I wouldn't be able to make the Tuesday ride and asking someone to feed the fish forever. After grabbing the six-pack of Milwaukees, I hopped into not-Isaac's highly modified Ford Galaxy 500 and rolled the window down. "Took off the restrictor plate," not-Isaac says, nodding approval. "But let's keep that on the down low; it's not quite street legal."

By the time I finish the six-pack, we are pulling up to a slalom course with some huge gaps and drops on not-Isaac's planet. I'm feeling like I might hurl after all that beer and the whole space-time thing, but I keep it together. Then not-Isaac introduces me to a bunch of people who look like Aunt Bea and they shove a bike at me and tell me to "wow" them.

"Oh, I get it." That was when I got it. "You guys want someone to get rad on a mountain bike, huh? Man, I thought you wanted to sponsor me to play Downhill Domination and do some demos and competitions and be a talking head for your company. Umm, yeah, about that...I just ride trails like normal. Unless I'm drunk, but that's not a good story."

So I got fired, but I was pretty OK with the whole deal because I would hate to miss the Tuesday ride anyway. That, and everybody on that planet looked like Aunt Bea, but that's probably just my way of minimizing my own self-loathing.

Sure, I was pretty down about getting fired from my new job just because of some stupid misunderstanding, but I'm over it. Too bad I wasn't playing Donkey Kong when they came to recruit me though, because man, I bet I could throw a big wooden barrel a lot better than that gorilla.