pony up, bitch.

On these nights, where I manage to come up with 3.2 reasons why I don't really need to go out and ride in 27deg greyness that fades to 20deg darkness in the time that it takes for something quick to happen, like open a beer for instance, I sometimes reflect a bit.

I know that this whole deal with fixing the Tour is pretty much a fool's errand, but I'm pretty committed to it. It's the way I am, the way I've always been, pursuing some smudged out footnote of cycling lore. This all started as a wee yung'n, ya know.

During the spring of sixth grade there was a fundraiser, it was a pretty neat gig. You signed up & got yourself a little doner sheet, proceeds to the York County Special Education Association something or other, then went around the neighborhood asking folks to sponser you per mile for however far you could ride from noon 'til four on a Sunday afternoon. There was a little loop laid out around the Middle & High Schools which included the vaunted tennis ball court climb, but luckily we got to descend Frederick Dr, which as a climb, was deemed Hors Catagorie at the time.

I remember a goal of wanting to ride further than anybody I deemed my peer, which was all of the other kids. I loved to ride my bike, and here was a stage upon which to do that. So I rode that blue & gold Z-Rimmed Murray bmxer around that loop I don't know how many times. My pits were quick, just getting my card checked for another lap completed, maybe a sip of water. The number etched in my mind is 35. 35 miles I rode that day, 12yrs old on a bmxer, just rode & rode & rode. Not only did I out distance all the other kids, I had the highest tally of anybody! That day was the first of many insignificant smudges.

I also remember barely being able to walk the next day. My legs were soooooo trashed, my calves were balled up knots, I hobbled around school for the next couple days. Must have been pretty worked over, because the following year as I headed out the door for the second edition, my mom said, "Remember how you felt after last year, please don't do that again...." I heard the motherly concern in her voice, but I left with that shrug of the shoulders that a teen does. I was again worked over the next day, couldn't help it, so it goes.

So it's been a couple days, and I've gotten to the point where I'm mobile, it's time to go collect my donations. Most folks pledged something like a dime or a quarter per mile, $5-10 total, donated to the local special ed program/school, a good cause for sure. Well, I'm doing my collection via bike around the neighborhood and get to one of the last stops. One of the neighborhood's grumpy fucks. You know, that asshole that doesn't like it when your game of kickball or tag expands briefly into his yard, never buys anything from the Scouts, etc, etc..... So, I ring the doorbell, ask him for his pledge and he balks:

"What?!?! You didn't ride that far, no way.
Why, that's like riding the whole way to Park City Mall!"

But mister, you pledged, you said, you owe me......

"No, there's no way.
[Looks out to my bike laying there in the grass]
And you sure didn't ride that far on that bike.....
I'm not paying."


Well, you know what?

fuck you
Fuck you
FUCK YOU!
You never did pay up, you cheap bitch.
You ignorant small minded ass.


When I ask myself "Why?", sometimes this memory jumps to the fore.