Man Camp: Which One of You Hunks Wants to Rub My Neck? Part II

Before I forget, there's a nice insert magazine from last Sunday's New York Times called "Play" which does a profile on Ironman races. There are actually a number of good articles. But in describing the various finishing times, they broke it down into "pro", middle-of-the-packer" and "the rear guard." I have half a mind to rename my blog "the tri rear guard" or something like that.

To continue the Man Camp story, I rolled into the camping area feeling pretty strong. Since I had shopped and was loaded down with groceries, I DID NOT pack any water, calculating that I would not pass out from two hours of hard riding without water and that I would be able to start a fire and boil up some creek water. I stopped at the campsite I thought my friend had described, but there was already a tent and tarp set up. I wandered cautiously around, but didn't see anyone or a car parked. I hesitated, wondering if I should just start a fire and risk the wrath of whoever was camping there should they return. Then I walked by the fire pit and noticed two fresh looking syringes. It was all looking suspicious and I pictured a couple of junkies showing back up, stabbing me and taking my bike for meth money. It is important to note that when we left two days later, there was still not a car parked there and the camp was set up exactly the same. It seems odd, considering a county sheriff stopped by every day. Maybe that's where he stayed and he was simply a diabetic. Though he should know better than to dispose of them in the fire.

I decided to risk it and just drink straight out of the creek, imagining myself hours later having violent expulsions out of every orifice. To add to the irony, right after drinking, I noticed cow piles all over and shortly after that, saw two cows walking up in the hills. There is one thing that cows and humans have in common: a delight in relieving themselves into water. Well, the water tasted good enough and I decided a bout of giardiasis was better than passing out from deydration. To date, the calculation appears to have been solid.

Eventually, I realized that perhaps I was not in the right place so I rode further down the road and discovered that I was about a mile short of the actual campground. I only stood around sipping whiskey for four hours before I came to this realization. I was quite frustrated with myself, but once I got down there, got a fire going, some water boiling and then a bucket of hot water over my head, I was feeling as good as if I were in my own living room at home. I had wisely packed my favorite sweats, and then literally at the last minute, my beautiful Uggs in place of sandals-so comfy.

With the passage of a week, the various details feel onerous to commit here. So in summation, it was very cold at night but a friend set me up with a tent-and on the second night a comforter (thank god-it was about 20 degrees colder on the second night!). Much revelry ensued, my potato, onion and Jimmy Dean sausage in aluminum foil on the fire was a triumph! We played frisbee golf, listened to a Duck game on the radio that had two overtimes while I read the paper and sipped weak beer (I broke myself the night before), and had a fantastic time looking for wood and having a campfire.

I decided, having made the journey there, that I could have, in a pinch, ridden my bike back. But I was still quite tired from the ride there and didn't get a solid night's sleep either night. And this was, after all, vacation, so I decided to pack my bike on a friend's car roof and enjoy the 1 hour car ride vs. the eight hour bike ride home.

As it turns out, this was the wisest decision I could have made for when I went to put my wheels back on my bike at home, I noticed that my rear wheel was a bit warped. After close inspection, I realized that once again, a spoke had broken, though this time without the accompanying "snap"! I have no idea when this happened and probably wouldn't have noticed it until the wheel folded under me if I had tried to ride back home.

So word to the wise, if you have a spoke break even once, either demand a wheel replacement, or, if it's no longer under warranty, buy a new wheel. I'd never even heard of a spoke breaking until it happened to me and after three times on one wheel, I've learned the hard way. I can only imagine the sickening feeling of traveling 30 miles an hour down a hill and having a wheel fold under you.

On the other hand, if I had insisted the bike shop order me a new wheel, it would have put the kaibosh on my trip since they don't seem to just have those things lying around, so ultimately kharma or jesus or whoever is ruling the universe this week, was smiling on me. So thanks for that.

I am inspired to do more bike camping, but next time, definitely panniers. My neck, shoulders and back were very stiff and one of my shoulders is still not willing to lift my arm  over my head without pain. And none of the hunks expressed interest in rubbing my neck, in case you were wondering.