Reasons I’m Not a Doc: Sponge Left in Body

If I were a doctor, I’d be world renowned as Dr. Oops.  Since I probably wouldn’t pass the exam, I’d be the guy injecting I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter into the lips of unsuspecting club-hopping duck-billers in a seedy office in a downtown Miami alley.  You can get away with anything in Florida.  Judging from what happened while installing a tire on Saturday, I’m convinced.  As a surgeon I’d break the tip of the scalpel off on the incision and mistakenly leave the piece in your brain right next to a sponge.  Oopsie.  Sorry ‘bout that.

I bought a new road tire on Saturday, a replacement Vittoria Open Corso EVO CX.  Three woots for this tire.  While pricey, costing five bucks more than the tried and true Continental GP 4000, I think the Vittoria’s have better cornering and descending grip and comparatively feel more supple on the road.  The trade off is they don’t last quite as long, but I still got well over a year of riding and racing out of it.  The red logo also matches my bike.  I probably could’ve got a few more weeks from them had I rotated the tires a 2^nd time.  The rear was the first to thin out and expose the threads under the tread in a small area.  After a slight LMFAO wiggle-wiggle-wiggle in the rain slicked early laps of the Harrison’s Tomb OSRS race last Saturday saved by what I described to another racer as steering with my nutsack, I headed up to the shop to replace Mr. Baldy.

The Vittoria Open Corso CX is one of those tight clinchers.  While its good to know the tire’s going to stay on the rim if you flat, its takes some serious man-mitts to coax it on and off the rim.  Not a very “quick change” friendly tire on a group ride.  Even slower since I don’t have man mitts.  After rotating the front tire to the rear, I got most of the bead of the new tire on my front rim with my thumbs, save 8 inches.  So I pried the remainder with a tire lever.  Tink!

The tire lever broke.  I swear I heard the piece fly and hit my spoke.  I was at BioWheels bike shop where they gratefully give team members who supposedly know what they are doing stand privileges.  After Saturday, I may be relegated to the stand outside of customer view.  Thinking the piece flew a few feet, I jokingly asked Bob working next to me, “Did I get you with that?”  “Nope,” he said with a chuckle as he handed me a second lever to finish the job.  With two torques of the new lever, I hit my tire with air and I was on my way.

Tire Lever Shrapnel 

It was in the 70's and sunny, so I took the long way home, probably 10 miles.  Approaching the stoplight 2 blocks from my house, the new front tire went squishy.  “Eh…new tire, old tube.  That always happens,” I thought.  It went down slow as I coasted to the light.  I walked the last block and put the bike in the Man Cave stand at home. 

My suspicions were confirmed removing the tire.  Behold!  The broken tire lever nugget stayed in the tire.  File that under “do it right the first time.”

How Not To: Bring A Cell Phone On A Group Ride

“Peanut butter Jelly…Peanut butter Jelly…Do the Peanut Butter Jelly with a Baseball Bat!” My cell phone rang. I forgot to put it on vibrate before the ride. It was 10am. I was on the rivet, just about to be schooled on Steep Creek Road, as the name implies, a climb in Northern Kentucky. Again it rang. “Peanut butter Jelly…Peanut butter Jelly…do the Peanut Butter Jelly with a Baseball Bat,” sang from my jersey pocket. I had to answer, if only to spare my Sunday Iffy Ride companions from my Family Guy ringtone (play video above to hear what I'm talking about.)

First off. Apologies all around. It gets under my skin when people on a group ride don’t put their phones on vibrate. It really digs deep when people answer cell phones while riding on a group ride. I did both on Sunday, twice. Sorry guys.

Me: Hello? (huff…puff)

JJ: Joe? It’s Jon Jon. (a young coworker working on the weekend)

Me: What’s (huff) up?

JJ: Are you riding your bike or something?

Me: Yeah. (huff) I’m on a hill (huff) in Northern Kentucky.

JJ: Ha! Sorry man. I can’t find that sponsor file.

Me: I (huff) emailed it to ya. (huff) Check your (huff) work email.

JJ: Oh yeah. Cool. I’ll get it there. Thanks.

Me: No prob. See ya later.

That’s precisely the reason I put my phone on vibrate when riding. First off, you save your riding partners from your personal annoying ring tone. Secondly, if you have a stock ring tone, you save everyone else from thinking that their phone is ringing and taking their hands off their bars to check thier pockets. Thirdly, it gives you an opportunity to check your phone at the top of hills or at the next stop. Fourth, you can avoid work calls on the weekend. Lastly, you wont ever be put in the position of being in the middle of a hill, having to answer your phone to spare your riding partners and then forget to put your phone on vibrate so it wont happen again.

“Peanut butter Jelly…Peanut butter Jelly…do the Peanut Butter Jelly with a Baseball Bat,” jammed out from my jersey again. "Son of a…," I thought. But, it still made me laugh. You guessed it, I was on climb number two of the day, again about to be gapped and nearly wheezing like a donkey.

Me: (5 seconds of wind noise and fumbling) Hello? (huff/wind noise)

Char: Joe Joe! It’s Charlie! You riding?!

Me: Yeah. (huff) On the Iffy Ride. (huff)

Char: Oh! I was just calling to see if you wanted to ride, but you’re already riding, that’s funny.

Me: Yeah. (huff)

Char: Okay. Have a good ride.

Me: Thanks. (huff) See you (huff) later.

Char: Later.

Some people, like two friends that are pilots, are on call. You are forgiven. It’s commendable to try to eek in a ride when ya can. Besides, people on call usually are pretty good about letting the others know that they are on call and may have to bail mid-ride. If you need to answer the phone and possibly bail mid ride to make a buck more power to ya. Folks expecting big news, like your baby is being born…I guess that’s a decent excuse to answer the phone while riding. However, no matter the occasion, for the sake of your riding pals, when you put your phone in your jersey pocket, put it on vibrate.

“Peanut butter Jelly…Peanut butter Jelly…do the Peanut Butter Jelly with a Baseball Bat!” Oh you got to be f-ing kidding me!

Addicted To The Massage Stick Torture

You want a terrorist to talk, give him a spirited rubdown with one of these massage sticks.  I bought one of these over the weekend at the expo for Cincinnati’s Flying Pig Marathon.  Gitmo officials listen up.  Trust me.  Put away the water boarding bucket and blindfold.  Get yourself a massage table (with hand and foot restraints if you feel so inclined) and one of these puppies.  Then go gather up the worst of the worst for a sensual massage.  No doubt you’ll have Osama’s home address and an invitation to a cave dinner party within twenty deep strokes of the right calf muscle.

“Ow.  Oww.  Oh!  Ha ha ha!  Owww!” was the exact quote of my wife Sunday night as she rolled out a wicked mooglie in her left calf.  I nearly blew the soda I was drinking out my nose as I laughed at her.  “Well stop,” I said.  She was writhing, half laughing and crying at the flood of lactic acid hurt she was putting on herself.  I didn’t think of it till now, but maybe I should’ve tried to pry a secret out of her.  “Did you throw away my ratty jeans in 1998?  You know the faded bell-bottom ones with a bandana for a knee patch?  They didn’t just disappear now did they?  Huh?!  Did you throw them away?”  I have suspected for a long time now, regardless of what she says with those big brown puppy dog eyes, I cannot just lose a pair of pants.  No doubt, I could’ve brought the conspiracy to light.

After only 2-3 days, we’re already addicted.  The massage stick works (and for the record this is not a paid endorsement.)  Just like a masseur with a good set of meat hooks can work a knot out of your muscle, the stick seems to do a pretty good job of working out the lactic acid and the nasty muscle lumps.  The only real problem is that you have to inflict the pain on yourself.  No lie it hurts so bad that tears will well in your eyes and you’ll have to stop to pound the couch cushion with your fist.  Then you’ll stand up and be amazed at how good you feel.  That’s the moment, like a Somali chewing Khat, you’re hooked.

I spent the better part of the day patching the lawn and pulling weeds on Sunday, vacuumed the stairs and then went out late in the afternoon for a two-hour fast paced hilly beatdown ride.  Normally the yard work alone would lay me up for 3 days with gimpy hamstrings, but after a bout with the stick I felt good enough to go for a mountain bike ride yesterday. 

However, you have to respect the stick and its allure.  Even after a day or two, you’ll start using it all over your body, contorting yourself like a yoga master to get ever little hitch out of your muscular system.  You’ll leave it on the sofa and give yourself a rub down during 30 Rock commercial breaks.  Then the first warning sign will appear.  You’ll consider buying another, so you can have one at work.  After that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in a 12 step program for those with stick addiction.