Archives for the month of: January, 2013

Drat! My finely honed curling reflexes have done me wrong again.

The right foot forward, left foot kicking and pushing of my championship curling form does not mix well with the toe clip overlap of my randonneuse and has put me on the pavement once again. My phrenologist has warned me that a few more bumps on the noggin and I will be relegated to the recumbent trike of shame for my own protection.

As I lay on the pavement testing my limbs and joints I muse on the many similarities between curling and randonneuring. The most obvious is the adaptation that most randonneurs and curlers have of thickening the middle of their body for proper balance and grace and the other is the propensity for blogging their own point of view as if it were God’s Own Truth in the rough.

My favorite curling blogs, Lovely Broom and Off The Swept Path often devolve into TMI about Lovely Broom’s struggles with dyspepsia and Off The Swept Path’s tiresome obsession with fast curling, but nonetheless they are enjoyable in their own way. The recent book Just Curl, was a little over the top for me though.

My own middle thickening is sadly just a temporary condition as a result of my drug (I hope) induced pregnancy, but I really am looking forward to the little bundle of joy even if my middle will not be thickened like my peer’s when my little sunshine arrives. I simply refuse to learn the gender – how little mystery we allow ourselves!

my future - my joy!

my future – my joy – my next 200k

It is a sad comment on society today that no one offers to aid a pregnant man lying in the middle of a safeway parking lot any more than they offer to hold the door or offer a seat on BART to a man in my condition. I won’t even start with the horrible paternity pants and muu-muu’s available – who designs these things anyway?

When I lose the prestigious middle thickening of a prime randonneur and gain an heir I will once again be relegated to the ranks of randonneur and curling poseurs by the uninformed; but I will feel better about my inability to satisfy my vanity and their prejudices because of the environmental consequences of those who can attain proper form.

Another mania that both randonneuring and curling share is an obsession with medals of accomplishment and one that I am proud to display! Behold and weep before my club playdown medals and my McNaughton Event medals mere curling mortals!

Someday I will augment those fearsome badges of honor with my PDP 2016 finisher medallion on my cap – right next to my other Randonneuring medals of glory – as soon as I can find it.

Contribute to my diaper service fund here if you have even a smidgen of sympathy for a single parent randonneur. During my paternity leave I will be working on my second coffee table/how to book, Randonneuring and the single Parent.

Gotta go – I have to arrange a few things in the baby room and make invites to the baby shower. So much to do!

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Years of abusing performance enhancing drugs such as water, ensure, beer and bagbalm have finally caught up to me and has tragically resulted in my pregnancy and this humiliating court-ordered confession.

I hereby offer my sincerest apologies to all of my fans, supporters and probation officers – I am sorry.

Sorry I had an overwhelming desire to finish randonees whatever the cost! I nearly changed my name to Aarthur Aanderson, just to ensure that I was listed first on every list of entrants and finishers to each randonnee. I am thankful that the (now very obvious) telltale signs of my condition alerted my handlers to my desperation.

I still seek some understanding as to how exactly I became as I am now, pregnant. Was it the drugs solely? Did something unspeakable happen to me when I passed out in that sandstorm in Morocco during PDP 2016? Read all about it in my new coffee table book – order before March 31 and you will receive an autographed hand-drawn picture of my new bicycle as well!

Rumours that I am experiencing an hysterical pregnancy because of off-season boredom and the desperate need to promote my new coffee table book are unfounded and downright mean.

If you see me, offer me a beer and I will tell you all about my condition and throw in a few stories of my intrepid exploits!

au revoir mon cher!

Ah the impetuosity of youth!

I was clearing out some old electronic media to make room for my new full chrome titanium/bamboo 650c disc brake Rene Heine bicycle and found an old ipod nano. Stored on the nano, tucked in between my remixes of inna godda davida and you are invited that I simply find necessary for tolerating long rides, I found the pictures of my summer in France, 1987. The images rediscovered have inspired me to inspire all of you with my adventures in a fine coffee table book for your salon or atelier.

During the summer of ’87 I had just turned 50 and with all of the youthful enthusiasm that accompanies everyone’s second half-century I decided to corral my riding buddies into riding all the grand randonnee’s of France in one summer! I simply cannot remember everything exactly as it occurred, and if I sometimes recall things slightly different than the actual occurrence, I hope that I will be forgiven and that everyone will buy the second, corrected version of my historic book.

I recall that I garnered a clothing sponsorship from Rapha, despite mine and my riding buddies lack of mustachios (Rapha made the proviso that the videos may have mustaches added to our faces electronically for advertising purposes) and our aversion to wearing pastel pink jerseys.

Following is a smattering of the photographic essay of my adventures – my 485 page coffee table book As I Remember It ~ Life of a High Rolleur Rando is scheduled to be released in the fall – if you pre-pay by Easter you will receive an autographed hand-drawn picture of my new bicycle as well. Enjoy!

Second attempt at the Menton/Henday Diagonal – the swamps outside of Bordeaux – Hired pacers Peirre and Fifi lead on.

Second attempt at the Menton/Hendaye Diagonal – the swamps outside of Bordeaux – Hired pacers Pierre and Jo lead on.

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Brasserie in Clermont-Ferrand at 3am (surprised at the crap mustard available) Fleche Velocio. Hired rolleurs Guillaume (center) and Pierre (right).

Group photo at Le Grande Artichoke during the Coupe Herse. we placed 8th – too much Pernod.

Group photo at Le Grande Artichoke during the Coupe Herse. we placed 8th – too much Pernod.

portage, Col du Soulor, Raid Pyrenean before abandoning due to crepe poisoning

portage, Col du Soulor, Raid Pyreneen before abandoning due to crepe poisoning

Gabe laughs at a joke about the size of his ass – Strausburg/Hendaye Diagonal. Almost broke the record for time and narrowly missed getting entered into the ‘grand livre.

Gabe laughs at my joke about the size of his ass – Strasbourg/Hendaye Diagonal. Almost broke the record for time and we narrowly missed getting entered into the ‘grand livre’.

It seems all dream-like now, those countless kilometers of suffering and transcendence, but I would not change a thing except (perhaps) my cycling shorts.

The lottery for riders was extremely limited due to the Moroccan Government seizing the caravan of sag-camels when they mistook the perpetuum they were carrying for heroin. After several nights camping on the BRM’s front door I cinched a spot aided by my incredible and unbelievable RUSA experiences earned here in the US and a $1000 US donation to the post-ride snack fund.

Carlos and I in a Parisian Cafe before the start - Carlos fell into a pissoir and was unable to do the ride

Carlos and I in a Parisian Cafe before the start – Carlos fell into a pissoir on the Champs Elysees and was unable to start the ride

somewhere south of Gibraltar

somewhere south of Madrid after a tussle with a crazy old dude and his chubby friend who were vandalizing a windmill

I would have fared better if I were able to live off a steady diet of Lablabi and sheep’s milk.

top of Gibraltar over the Mediterranean

top of Gibraltar over the Mediterranean – Gabe won’t get off his ass – the ferry does not run after 20:00 and the smugglers won’t sign and stamp brevet cards

This is where I lost my helmet to some heartless street urchins but luckily the ACP does not require a casque for riders. I have never felt so exposed and vulnerable.

extra miles after the sandstorm

extra miles after the sandstorm

I had a wonderful time, but I simply cannot tolerate sand on a randonnee any more than I can tolerate toe clip overlap on my randonneuse.

Somewhere in the Moroccan Desert before Jake was kidnapped (he's fine now)

Somewhere in the Moroccan Desert before Jake abandoned after an unfortunate incident with a fez.

It was all such a hazy undefinable experience – I can’t believe it actually happened. Notes and experiences will be added as they are recalled.

I wish I could remember all of the people who offered assistance during my adventure and where I placed my bleeping finisher medallion.