The Cat Peed On Me...and other excuses for missing a race

We are dangerously close to the first original post on The Best Bike Blog Ever. Granted the stories about Cincinnati's UCI 3-day cyclocross weekend were original, however they weren't written specifically for this blog. If you didn't know, AOL is closing it's Journals. As of October 31st my former blog, "Joe Biker" on AOL, will be gone forever, update your bookmarks & favorites. While just about everything has been moved and I'm pretty happy with the layout and appearance, I regretfully haven't had time to write new content for The Best Bike Blog Ever. In the works is an article about the handful of bike shops scattered across the nation from Key West to Kaanapali that live in the happy dusty corners of my travel memories. Stay tuned and thanks for reading. Til then, here's a classic from the former Joe Biker Blog on AOL dated Thursday, July 5, 2007.

The Cat Peed On Me...and other excuses for missing a race

The cat peed on me. That’s why I didn’t race DINO AMBC at Muskawhatevertuck. Now, I know what you’re saying, “but you’re Joe Biker and nothing stops you from racing!” Well I’m sorry teammates and friends. Apparently, this Bio Wheels racer has found his Kryptonite.

I’ve raced with a leg brace just months after ACL reconstruction. Carson Palmer ain’t got jack on me. Losing my tire a quarter of a lap into the 6 Hours of John Bryan last year didn’t stop me. I rode the rim, still kept the 2nd place team behind us. But cat piss on my backside at 5am the morning of an AMBC race spelled immediate disaster.

I got to bed late for a race, maybe around midnight. But, the DINO start time was noon, so I thought I could sleep till 8ish, and still make the 2 hour drive with plenty of time to get lost and/or get in a good warm up. It was a nice two Grolsh induced slumber.

We normally put our two cats, 14 year old Hanna and 2 year old Tsali (pretty cool name huh?) in the basement before we go to bed. Cats have a weird fascination with sleeping humans. And, that whole standing on your chest and sucking your breath out thing, myth or not, still freaks me out. So, in the basement they go. Except for last Saturday night. Remember I had two beers. For a cyclist, that’s pretty much hammered pass out drunk. So, we left the cats out and hit the hay.

I’m not sure if I noticed the time on the clock or the wetness on my butt first, both were shocking. It was 5:05am. I reached back with my right hand above the covers and they were soaked. “Did I? No. It’s not my front side! What the!? (sniffing my hand) Omigod!! Hanna!!!!”

The wetness went through the blanket, sheet, my boxers, the sheet with the elastic corners and down into the mattress pad. Luckily it stopped there. I’ve never stripped the bed so quick. At 5:06 the washer was going with the first load, while I sprayed Pet Out™ on the rest of the bedding.

After shoeing the bad cat in the basement, I sat in a huff on the sofa, turned on the replay of the Busch Series Nascar race on ESPN and realized that by the time I got two loads of wash through the dryer, it would be 7am. I wouldn’t be able to sleep for more than 20 minutes at a crack before I’d have to switch loads.

I was doomed. I was pissed off. I looked at the clock again and realized that I’d have to face some of the fastest mountain bike racers in the Midwest in a matter of hours on less than 5 hours sleep. Then my little back ache from doing the Hyde Park Blast the day before crept in.

In all reality I was considering a 2 hour drive to get my ass handed to me by those Indiana boys. No thanks. I opened my book, Bobke 2, and Bob Roll and I suffered together.