Random Oddities

I know I've been slacking on my blog, but there just hasn't been much of interest going on. I'm on a later shift at work, which usually results in mind-numbing assignments like meetings and high school sports. Nobody wants to see that stuff.

There IS one picture from tonight's girls basketball game that's amusing, however:



For my friends that don't know about this, my brother nicknamed me "Biz" when we were really little. No one knows what it means. But dammit, I'm one of the team!!

In other corny but entertaining news, I have another wonderful commemorative item to add to my collection. This beauty came to me from our race team party after the State Championships, where I was awarded the "Best Teammate/Best Supporter" award (you know, the "jock strap" award). I probably got this award for all my hollering, hooting, cat-calling, and other annoying vocalizations at the summer short-track races. I also received a pound of coffee and a "growler" of beer from two of our team sponsors (nice sponsors, huh?). I gave the coffee to my roommate, who actually chokes down Folgers every morning, and the beer went to my friend, teammate, and coworker at the Daily Camera, Jeremy. But of course I kept this nugget for myself:



My teammate Cindy won a gorgeous engraved-Lucite golfer for "Most Improved Rider." It's pretty safe to guess that one of the team directors scored these things that morning at a thrift shop. The best part is that we have to hang onto them, to pass on to next year's winners.

Lastly, I've been reading the blog written by my friend Nick Martin, who runs the Trek Rocky Mountain racing team, and quite frankly, it's depressing. I want to be 24 years old, a sponsored mountain bike pro who has no other job but to ride all day, dammit!! (If you have time, check out his blog; naturally it's a lot more interesting than mine.)

So in a desperate attempt to imitate his fun-filled winter training rides, I cast around for someone to ride with this morning. Luckily I found "someone" -- Andy Hampsten. (The fat slacker who was the only American to win the Giro d'Italia... no big deal.) We did the coffee-shop meeting and then headed out on our 'cross bikes. While Andy's custom "Mud Pig" (so called because his bike-touring company is named after Italy's famed wild boar, the Cinghiale) has water bottle bosses, he doesn't have any cages on the bike. So he asked me to be his domestique and carry his water. As you might know, domestiques are the "helpers" in road racing, the underappreciated, ass-busting no-names who ferry water and food to the important guys as well as block the wind for them, wipe their butts, do their taxes, change their kids' diapers, etc. etc. But I digress. So I put Andy's bottle in my second cage and we set off, heading toward the dirt roads north of town. (I'm allergic to asphalt, as many of you know.)

The wind turned out to be HELL-acious, due to a cold front heading in. (Or is it just that Boulder is windy every god-forsaken day in the wintertime??) We had to literally yell at each other to be heard. We still managed to talk about movies, flying in small aircraft, Andy's plans to remake wool cycling jerseys as well as retro 40's and 50's clothing, and any number of other things. Of course, I talked in strategically small sentences to hide the fact that I was getting totally gasping from fighting into the wind.

And suddenly Andy's arm shoots into the air and he turns to look behind him while he's riding. It takes me a second, in this setting, to recognize the classic body language of a pro rider waiting for help from the team car -- needing water, a spare wheel, a pat on the ass, etc. I start cracking up, but let him hang there. Finally he bellows, "CAIVANO! Where's my water??"



This picture is after he was properly hydrated, of course. He went on to tell me a story about his days on the Motorola squad, when a cyclist named Raul Alcala was the big shot. Raul kept insisting that Andy and another domestique stay with him, even though they were at a good strategic point in the race (a flat spot) for one of them to go back to the team car for liquids. Of course, Raul waited until the road went steeply uphill to demand a Coke. (The riders drink them for the caffeine boost.) So Andy went back for the Coke and ferried it to Raul, without complaining about having to slog up the steep section of road twice. But Raul went postal, threw the Coke off the side of the road and screamed, "I wanted a COLD one!!!"

And you thought basketball players were prima donnas.

And dammit, that pesky Nick Martin doesn't have this story!