It’s not a Halloween party unless there’s a hearse parked out front
That’s what greeted me, Denise, Jeannie and Aaron at Rob Bock’s costume party, along with plenty of drink, candy and Chic ‘n Stew. I threw together a Sid Vicious costume the night before and Denise went as a pirate. Denise thinks everyone should know that part of my costume consisted of a pair of her jeans because I couldn’t find my leather pants and all my jeans aren’t of ‘70s punk rock tightness. Ha, ha Denise. Aaron showed up in his fishing duds, although he had to check his pole at the door. Still obsessed with the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Jeannie was draped in an Elfish Princess dress accessorized with big pointy ears and a massive hooded cape. Mark and Joanne Foist eventually showed up dressed as two guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I thought it would have been funny if they would have gone through Rob’s drawers and closet and replenished his wardrobe with hip trendy clothing from Banana Republic. Then they could have shaved all the hair off of Rob’s back and taught him how to cook something like curry chicken. Wait, I don’t think Rob has any hair on his back and he already cooks curry chicken. Anyway, Rob was dressed as Shaggy from Scooby-Doo and was sporting hair and a goatee a shade of red. One of Rob’s co-workers, dressed as a NY Giant fan, brought a Karaoke machine, but he couldn’t get the lyrics to read on the TV. Too bad, because I was planning a rendition of Ray Parker Jr.’s Ghost Busters. Maybe next year. Not all party goers were in costume, but it was still fun, which is why Denise and I didn’t get home until well after midnight. Thanks Robby Boxcar. Sorry we didn’t stick around to help with tear down.
Park Tool Chain Cleaners: Who needs ‘em?
It’s official. P-Diddy ran NYC in a time of 4:14.54, which means Mark Foist lost the bet that he and I made at Rob’s Halloween party. Mark thought that P-Diddy wasn’t proud enough to beat Ophra’s Chicago Marathon time and I was confident he would. Don’t ask me why I suddenly had so much confidence in the alleged murdering hip-hop artist and music producer. Maybe it was because I fell off the wagon and indulged in several Newcastles that evening. No, scratch that. I based my bet on logic, such as: it’s logical that a healthy and strong 30-something year old male might turn in a better time than a middle-aged woman with an intermittent weight problem and a history of smoking crack. The wager? Joanne, Mark’s better half, has to scrub the grime from the chain of my mountain bike. A hand shake, witnessed by a room full of people, sealed the deal so I expect a shining SRAM power link by the end of next weekend. Sorry Joanne. A bet’s a bet.
“That dude is tough.” – Nathan when I told him Rick Daniel won the Iron Man class at this year’s Glen Helen 24-Hour, again.
You know what else is tough besides Rick? Sitting around on my arse waiting for my pulled groin muscle to heel. Sure, I’m able to jog a little, however I’m unable to ride my bike and do the leg work in the gym that I should be doing right now. Currently the gym is only good for a litter upper body work and abs. I fear if I don’t mend soon my performance in next year’s racing season may be in jeopardy. Not to mention this time of year is really boring as far a riding goes, so I’ve concocted a plan of attack to stir up a little fun. While my injury heels I’m going to set up a cyclocross course on the back side of Blue Mountain. That way when I’m ready to ride again I’ll be able to ride a little cross for fun. I’m thinking one night a week a few of us can get together and flog ourselves for about an hour. Who’s with me?
