I'm going to start this story on a relatively unrelated note. Two years ago, I had a crappy crappy summer. I decided to break up with my boyfriend of 3-1/2 years, in general was just very confused, started dating someone I didn't really know, moved out of my boyfriend's apartment, incurred the wrath of my former roommates, etc. It was not a pleasant summer for me. In any case, I decided to adopt this sort of Taoist attitude as sort of a trial for the summer, and see what my life would be like if I stopped pushing so hard to make things happen and instead sort of let things happen. I know this sounds silly and very unlike me, but I guess I basically decided to stop scheming for that summer.
So, this afternoon was a very good example of how I've abandoned that attitude. Actually, this whole damn trip is a very good example of how I've abandoned this attitude. Not necessarily a good thing. Initially, I planned this trip as a fun racing jaunt and as a chance to spend some time with my (now ex-) boyfriend. The relationship was clearly coming to an end, but I bought the ticket anyway.
Finally, in typical Michele style, I fell for someone else (an adorable guy who brought me soup when I was sick; his name is Ed) and broke up with Mark over e-mail. (Yes, I am a veteran wingwalker.) This should have been a sign to me to abandon the trip. But no. I paid to enter both races, and bought a new one-way ticket so that I could leave DC on Sunday night instead of Monday morning as originally planned.
Even getting shelled off the back at Housatonic, a National Racing Calendar race, in the first couple laps didn't convince me that this trip was futile.
So this afternoon I left my office at 3 pm to make a 5 pm flight. I figured this would be plenty of time to get about 45 miles to Manchester, NH. Of course, it was not, even with my attempt at a clever backroads detour. Traffic was pretty much at a standstill and I was going nuts. It was only 64 degrees out but it felt like 90 and I knew that I was definitely going to miss my flight. I seriously considered going home.
I missed the shuttle in the parking lot too, but someone helped me with my frame box and I managed to get all my stuff on the next one. The woman at the gate switched me to a Philly-DC flight and believed me when I told her my box contained "artwork" that was "not fragile." I checked my wheels at the gate. Luckily I was able to get Kira listed as scheduled property on my renter's insurance today.
So now here I am on a flight to Philly. I have no idea if Brad got my phone message (he's supposed to pick me up at the airport). I am super tired and moderately stressed out. At least I get to sleep in tomorrow. And then, I'm sure, the ass-kicking will begin.
**
Okay, I'm back, and I'm still not in Philly! We were supposed to have landed a while back but we've been circling. I bet I'm going to miss my connection. And it sounds to me like one of the engines cut out about 30 minutes ago. We seem to be moving in slow motion. There is a child crying in front of me. Ah, if only I were home spinstering right now...
**
Call it stupidity or stubborness or a pigheaded refusal to flow with the tao--whatever. I'm in Philly now. My flight to DC is delayed. I left work over 5 hours ago. Aagh. Luckily Brad got my message and didn't go to the airport. Okay, we're boarding now. A woman just looked at my eMate and said, "Is that a computer?
**
Finally made it in to Reagan around 10. Brad took me to a diner in Arlington where the waitress was uber-friendly. I found it to be somewhat troubling. Does this mean I'm turning into a New Englander?
So the race was not that exciting. I thought I got a decent position at the start, in the second row, but then people started lining up in front of the line, so I ended up being in the fifth row. Then the girl in front of me couldn't get into her pedal, and my friend Becky from Hawaii pulled to the side. Maybe with a mechanical? I don't know what happened. I was at the rear of the pack, and the course was terrible. It was 2k, 1k straight in one direction, a big U-turn, then 1k straight in the other direction on the same street, another U-turn. Everything got really strung out and I was off the back fairly soon. I worked with a James River Velo Club girl for a little while, then we got pulled. Afterwards I got to talk to a girl I met before the race, when I mentioned that I'd seen her lovely red-and-silver flame 38-cm IF at the factory.
Brad and I watched a bit of the men's pro race (Tim Johnson _and_ George Hincapie... be still my beating heart!!) and spent like an hour looking through the Long's Cycling Clothing offerings. I got some super cool fighter pilot socks with teeth on the front and the Air Force symbol in the back.
Now Brad and I are back at the apartment, hanging out and perusing a book called _Dermo!_, literally "shit" in Russian. Let me share with you some of my favorite new Russian words and phrases. I can't type in Cyrillic here, so I'll use the transliteration from the book. "Babets": a luscious babe, also someone who is built like a barn. Actually, that's all I'm going to include, because the rest of my favorites were extremely vulgar and involved crawfish.
**
We're watching the 1968 Elvis comeback special on CMT right now. Brad and I have decided that he needs to make all future clothing purchases based on the outfits that Elvis wears in this special. There's something new every thirty seconds. My personal favorites are the black leather jacket, gold glittery blazer, and black velvet double-breasted suit with extra-wide, grey-edged lapels. So money!! Who's your daddy, indeed. Pozhaluista!!
**
We got some Salvadoran roasted chicken, which is almost as good as the smoked chicken we got last year in eastern Ohio on our way back from Nationals. We brought it home so we could watch "Elvis and Me," Priscilla Presley's recollection of her years with Elvis, based on her book. It escapes me why she would write a book that would make her look so bad. The whole thing was disgusting and when I finally screamed with pain, Brad said, "I was wondering when you were going to break!!"
Here's a good quote from the movie: "I had to be a Catholic school student by day, femme fatale by night. Every evening I had to entertain 20-30 people, and then go to school the next morning--with a gun." The dream of every pedophile, no? Now that years have passed and no one is named Elvis anymore, it sounds really ridiculous when she says, "I love you Elvis, you're the greatest person who ever walked this side of the Earth."
Now we're about to head off for another good old-fashioned ass-kicking at the Clarendon Cup, near the diner where we ate Friday night. Should be tons of fun...
We tried to set up some rollers for me, but the drums were really big and it was so high up and every part of the parking lot was on a slope. So I had to ride in circles to warm up. I swear that I know how to ride rollers though. No, really. I do.
So it ended up being pretty much what I expected. I had a decent starting place but lost it when we moved to let the police through for their parade lap. Then we had a parade lap (in honor of Nicole Reinhart), during which I moved up a bit, but not enough. I have to learn to be more aggressive. During the first lap I got caught behind a one-rider crash and then steadily came off the back. When I got pulled after about 10 km, I was with a Trek and a P&G though, so at least I can feel like I'm making some progress. Afterwards I rode around a bit to cool off and then ran into Laura Kibelsbeck, who vented with me good-naturedly for a bit. Then Brad and I went to say hi to the Mavic guys and watch Ina Teutenberg, the Teutonic monster, lap the field TWICE.
Afterwards we hung out with Dave Lipman (who has an APU) and had some decent Vietnamese food while watching the men's race.
Then showers and a trip to my favorite mall, Fashion Centre at Pentagon City. First we went to the Borders across the street, and after 30 minutes trying to buy something (and being too stupid to just walk away when they undercharged me), I think I can report that this so-called "economic downturn" hasn't hit the Borders at Pentagon City yet.
At Borders we met Brad's friend Laura and her boyfriend Marco. I'd hung out with Laura a couple times before, and think she's pretty much the coolest person Brad knows. After Borders we went to the mall and shared a good laugh over "ass girl," who was wearing super-tight white pants. I thought she wasn't wearing underwear but Brad assured me that she was. Then Laura and I experienced the Vulcan mind meld while gazing at a girl who was experiencing some difficulty walking in super-high gold sparkly high heels. We didn't even need to look at each other but each of knew exactly what the other was thinking.
At the California Pizza Kitchen, Laura regaled us with tales of microwaveable pork rinds, available in San Antonio. And Brad and I wrote a postcard to Sat, in which I expressed my regret that Brad, if he marries Fiona, will not have beautiful hapa babies. Since I clearly won't either, given my white boy fetish, I told Sat it is up to him to carry the torch. I am convinced he is up to the job.
Then on to Baltimore (Brad drove me). This time the artwork thing didn't fly. Finally got home around 11. That means I spent 11 hours traveling... and 30 minutes racing. Awwwwwww yeeeeeeahhhhhh.