Time After Time

I am the star of a "Revenge of The Nerds" sequel every time I enter Joe's. I have been the victim of fictional repair explanations, involving quantum equations by Pete. They usually end with me confused, broke, and with one of the three repairs I requested. Scott takes a more Eddie Hascallion approach by complimenting me on weight loss, a new hair cut, or how everyone is talking about: "how fast I am getting". I fall for it every time. I usually get about two words into my thank you speech, before I see the concerned look on Joe's face, and the laughter leaves the left side of Scott's Cliff Bar hole.

A couple years ago, I attended a Fish Lap Time Trial, and Scott was the timer. After my lap, he told (a very out of shape) me, that I had beaten Worm. Over the next half hour, I cornered everyone I could find to give them advice for a good lap, and to mention casually how awesome I was on my lap. Scott and Pete rolling in the grass, with hysterical laughter behind me, didn't stir one ounce of suspicion in my tiny egotistical noodle.

Ever since the Joe's Time Trial, I have been watering the seeds of doubt. Scott asked me if I had been riding a lot, and complimented me on my lap. When he said I finished with exactly the same time as Worm, I knew something was rotten in Denmark, and said: " Ya whatever, there must be some mistake." I have had the time, and the lap, stuck in my craw for days and decided to get the monkey out of my Camelback.

I supposedly ran an 11:40 on the Joe's lap. Two days ago I ran a 12:00 in a slight rain and the day before that I ran a 12:30 (the same time as Juancho).

If ever I bring my bike to a pawn shop, having the same time as Juancho, will be part of the final decision.

Yesterday, I went out with the Rocky Theme playing. I pulled up to the start line, and looked down at the fading spray paint on the grass, like some pale scar from an old wound. I set my 1993 Casio G-Shock to zero, and adjusted my helmet so it tilted slightly to the left. I clicked into my pedals, and hit the start button. Phil Ligget's voice rang out like a beacon as I: "danced on my pedals, to the music of the Tour de France" and "many a pedal, turned in anger." Sherwin chimed in that we were watching a performance that: "...would make Eddie Merckx throw his bicycle into the Seine!"

I crossed the line in 11:28 and just like Louis, after he bedded the jocks girl in the moon room, I basked in the orgasmic victory only an underdog could feel.

...And yeah, I realize Scott still got me...BASTARD!

W.B.Z.N.