Tour of Ca – I was This

I had an invitation to go to Winters to watch the Tour come through and then to have dinner at the somewhat famous BuckHorn Grill. The plan was to go up there with the Good Doctor, bikes in rack, watch the Tour come through, go for a ride around Lake Barryessa and then have our dinner. Sadly, TGD had to go to traffic school and it was pouring rain. Sadder still, I decided not to drive up there and watch the tour come through – big mistake. I did get something out of it, though.

The invitation came from my Ex who is a super nice guy. Since I couldn’t be there he took care of me, though. A week after the tour he delivered this shirt via TDG who is treating his Dad right now.

I thought it was a great shirt and immediately noticed that it had been signed so I took a colser look at the inscription:

Any Time!

Awesome! I sent the Ex an email thanking him for the shirt and telling him how funny I thought his signature was and asking him if he used a laundry pen. This was his reply:

ME?!?! You mean Lance, don’t you? And sorry, we were both pedaling so fast, I couldn’t see what kind of pen he was using.

Let me tell you how it all happened…..It was sleeting a side-winding cold, and very wet rain, as I lay in wait on Railroad Ave for “The Pack”. My frigid knuckles ached as they wrapped around the hand grips of “Old Blue”, my 1969 Schwinn Varsity. Through the sea of umbrella-wielding, wet well-wishers, I glimpsed Armstrong leading “The Pack”.

Of course, I let them pass through downtown Winters. Then, I sloshed down a side street, my blue jeans and converse high tops heavy with rain water, but managed to catch up to the back of the pack as they hit the grade to Monticello Dam.

Visibility was poor, with water dripping off the brim of my Black Angus ball cap, but I squinted hard and moved on the pack up their left flank. Many of the less experienced riders started dropping back on the 15% grade, and that opened a hole for me to get up front. I had to be aggressive and a bit rude in order to muscle my Schwinn in between Lance and the guy to his left, but I did it.

He looked amazed…looked me right in the eye as we stroked the spokes at 25 mph uphill, side by side. “What the fuck are you doing, you old fool?!?”, Lance politely asked me.
“Just autograph my shirt for my friend Pamela, Junior, and I’ll wait for you in Santa Rosa”, I responded, just as politely.
“Jesus H. Christ”, he shouted, “I’m in the middle of a race!”
“Just lean over and sign the goddam shirt, will ya? I’m in a hurry”, I said calmly.
“OK Grandpa…gimme a pen”. (Just a ballpoint, to answer your question).

As I threw it into high gear, and sped away from the pack, I heard him mutter, “Where did that old fart come from, and what was that piece of crap he was riding?”

Enjoy the t-shirt, my friend.

Best shirt ever!