Ay Caramba!

Kahuna's gracious praise of Trimama elicited some very interesting responses around the household yesterday, not the least of which was Soapinator's injunction "Mom, you can't get a divorce you know"

I know, polygamy is illegal in California.

But seriously, the best reaction was from Tridaddy (who has my undying devotion and is the most studly of studs in the entire known universe), prompted by a touch of protective spousal jealousy bestowed the greatest gift of all- a night off! He took two to grandma's and two to the "pesky, never say die, Twins" game.

A night off, whoopee! Since the outdoor days are waning with the onset of winter, I had to take the bike out for a long ride. We have a million miles of biking trails around here, but I really like the 12 mile loop which always keeps me within walking distance of my house. (translation 4-5 miles, in case you are wondering) The first loop went well, even with encountering the running club moving in packs of 15-20 obscuring most of the trail as they passed. I felt instant guilt for not running, (which I'll address in another post about the marathon) but determined to stick with my plan. The second loop was even smoother as my legs were warmed up and ready to hammer. This course mimics Florida in it's relative flatness and constant wind, so as I rode I devised my training strategy. 9 loops does almost a ironman make. Bike 2, run 1-bike 3, run 1 it was all laying out in my head for next summer. On the backside I practiced my aero bars and reflected on this past race. One guy at the starting line was joining in the pre race "why do we do this?" conversation and spurted out "I need a cigarette" The perfect cartoon bubble to begin a race. I amused myself with the contemplation of a chain smoking triathlete until I almost wiped out with the challenged athlete approaching and weaving back and forth across the lanes. Enough aerobar, but keep the cigarette in mind.

As the bike path rejoined the city street, a truck drove up next to me so that we were moving parallel to each other. The next thing I knew, the truck had popped the curb and was crashing down the sidewalk next to me. In that surreal instant, I noted that to my right was a chain link fence- no where to go there- and to my left was serious ouch. My brain didn't know whether to speed up or brake, so I did neither and in that rare slow mo reserved for near death experiences I watched as the truck cut a path towards me. Boy, I hope he doesn't hit me. I hope he stops, soon. And he did stop-because he ran over a 20 foot tall light post. I, of course, didn't stop and progressed foward as the light post came down next to me and shattered at my feet. Gee, I'm glad that didn't just hit me in the head.

Then I stopped. I hopped off my bike and ran over to see if the guy was ok. He was shaken up but fine. Then I noticed he had sheared the bottom of his gas tank off and gas was pouring out of the bottom of his truck. That didn't look too good. He shut the truck off and we stepped back on the sidewalk where we were joined by a biker who was calling 911. We asked him again if he was ok, and he still seemed a little stunned. Then he returned to the truck and rummaged around a little, re emerging with a cigarette in his mouth which he lit. Never mind the 8 or so gallons of gas pooling under the truck. Sometimes there are accidents in life where it seems as though it is nature weeding out the stupid. I was going was going to be weeded out with this moron. The other biker and I put some distance between ourselves and the truck, waiting for he police to arrive. They did, and took a report. I was anxious to leave, but noted the leaking gas for the officer.

Needless to say I was shaking so bad I couldn't re clip my shoes, so I just rode home into the sunset. There was a roar of sirens as I biked away, thankfully no sound of explosion.

I called Tridaddy when I got home, then went to grandma's and got the kids. Those hugs felt good.

Ay, Caramba!