An Open Letter to the Passenger in the Green SUV Who Screamed as He Went By Yesterday

07.27.2005 | 2:35 pm

Dear Passenger in the Green SUV,

Yesterday, as I was riding my bike home from work your SUV pulled alongside me, at which point you — the passenger — screamed at the top of your lungs, startling me and making me swerve and nearly hit a guardrail.

I’d like to take this moment to congratulate you on a couple of things:

1. The quality of your sense of humor. Everyone knows that startling someone who is two feet away from heavy rush hour traffic without any protection whatsoever is simply brilliant. I only wish that you had videotaped it to show to your friends — I must have looked so stupid! And the thing is, this joke’s got legs. I can imagine how you might get a similar effect by suddenly screaming at people as you walk by them in hallways, or perhaps at the dinner table. How about in business meetings — or, in your case, during your lunch break while you sit with the others in your work-release program?
2. The originality of your sense of humor. I haven’t conducted a survey or anything, but I’m pretty sure you are the absolute first person to ever scream at a cyclist from a moving car. And I’m sure other cyclists will verify that they, like I, have never:
   • Had a car swerve at them as a joke
   • Had a car honk at them as a joke
   • Had someone throw a beer bottle at/in front of them as a joke.

As a fellow humorist — though of course my sense of humor doesn’t compare with yours; I just write jokes and “amusing” anecdotes — I would again like to thank you for taking the time to share your unique and stylish brand of comedy with me.

Finally, I would like to share with you that since you weren’t going that much faster than I was, I had plenty of time to memorize your license plate. We were both going in the same direction on E. Lake Sammamish Parkway, so our destinations can’t have been too different. I’d say it’s almost inevitable that I will find your green SUV parked and alone someday. At which point, I look forward to continuing our tradition of sharing practical jokes with one another.

Kind Regards,

The Fat Cyclist

Comments (23)

An Open Letter to Lance Armstrong, Who is Newly Unemployed

07.21.2005 | 9:23 pm

Dear Mr. Armstrong,

I’m very sorry to hear that you have lost your job as a bicycle rider. Being unemployed is a difficult, demoralizing experience, and to tell the truth I’m not absolutely sure that anything I have to say will help. However, like you, I have found myself “between jobs” before — and I’m happy to say that if you treat this as a learning experience, you can gain some important life lessons from these admittedly difficult circumstances. Here’s how you can take those lemons and make lemonade!

• Don’t be proud. From what I understand, Lance (I hope you don’t mind if I call you Lance), this is not the first time you have lost your job. In fact, I hear that last year the United States Postal Service fired you. Maybe now is the time for you to go back to them, apologize for your shortcomings, and ask for a job. It seems like common sense to say that there will always be work for mail carriers. If you can start being more consistent in your work, perhaps you’ll find that you have a reliable career that can last a lifetime!
• Don’t be afraid to ask for help. No doubt you’re wondering how you’re going to make ends meet now that you have no job. Well, I understand you have a girlfriend who is a singer — in fact, if I don’t miss my guess, I believe she once had a hit song, “All Girls Wanna Do is Just Have Some Fun!” And while I think it’s safe to say that one-hit-wonders are a dime-a-dozen, she can probably still find work. In fact, I have several friends with younger children. I may be able to help her make some bookings for their upcoming birthday parties. In any case, if you need money, you should ask her for some. But keep a strict accounting of every penny you borrow, and an even more strict accounting of every penny you spend, to show that you’re not just throwing her hard-earned (and somewhat unsteady)money around foolishly. Pay her back as soon as you can.
• Do something for others. I hope you don’t mind me being teensy bit little bit direct with you now, Mr. Armstrong. I can tell, just by looking at you, that you have always had it easy. You’ve never been sick a day in your life. Well, now may be the time for you to think about some of the less-fortunate people in the world. Help the sick, for once in your life. You’re a strapping young man; I’ll bet any hospital in the world would be happy to take you on as a candy striper.
• Think about a career change. You’ve given bicycle riding a shot. That’s great that you’ve chased a dream. Now it’s time to come down to the ground and realize that it’s simply not a practical job. Try to find something you can be successful at. Perhaps you could get a job with Amway or Nuskin. Or maybe you could get a job making / selling those rubber bracelets that are so popular with kids these days. Or maybe you could take your former “career” experience and turn it into something practical — you could be a mechanic or salesman in a bike shop! Though, if you want to be a salesman in a bike shop, I recommend you stop acting like such a know-it-all about bike riding. Remember, the customer is always right!

You can’t help that you’ve lost your job, Mr. Armstrong. But you can help what you’re going to do now. Please accept this advice in the spirit in which it is given.

Kind Regards,

The Fat Cyclist

Comments (5)

How to Despair

07.19.2005 | 11:37 am

A Note from Fatty: This post was originally published July 19, 2005 in my old MSN Spaces Archive, and is now part of my “Rescue Fatty’s Old Stuff” project.

I’ve done a lot of endurance rides — more than a dozen 100-mile MTB races, and probably more than a couple dozen events and just-for-”fun” rides. I’ve learned that my mood arc, from beginning to end, is perfectly predictable:

1. Nervous excitement before starting: Do I have everything I need? Is my equipment OK? Am I fast enough to keep up / not embarrass myself / reach my goal time?
2. Giddiness at the beginning: Excited at the prospect of adventure, enjoying being around friends/like-minded cyclists, adrenaline from crossing a starting line.
3. Helpful / friendly “Mr. Rork” (from Fantasy Island) phase: Talking with anyone who’ll engage about what lies ahead, how to gauge / meter your effort, pleasure at having so much sage advice to give.
4. In the moment: Settling into the biking groove, no longer feeling a need to talk, thinking about whether I’m eating and drinking enough. This is the best mood of the race — Sometimes whole miles will elapse where I’m only peripherally aware of my surroundings: it’s just me, my legs, and the sense of motion. It’s a good place.
5. Despair: I’ve slowed drastically and have begun talking to myself. I hate my bike, I hate the trail, I hate the other racers, I hate my former self: the obviously-idiotic self that thought doing another endurance ride was a good idea.
6. Anticipation: My mind is on one thing only — crossing the line. I usually adopt a mantra for this part: “5 more miles. I can make it. 5 more miles. I can make it. 4.98 miles. I can make it.
7. Resignation: Once again, I finished. That’s good, I guess. Once again, I didn’t meet my goal. Too bad. Oh well, I’ll get it next time.

Trash Talking to Myself

I don’t think I’ve ever done an endurance ride without going through all those stages, in that order. Of all these moods, though, I think “despair” is the most interesting. It’s absolutely the most informative, because a part of me I usually suppress comes to the foreground, and seems to feel that this is a good time to give me a frank assessment of my abilities, character, and priorities. Here are a few quotes from the conversations I have had with myself:

• For once — just once — can you try not being weak?
• You have no business here. You have no strength, no speed, no endurance.
• You have no business on a bike whatsoever, for that matter. You have no technical skill, you can’t climb, you can’t sprint, you can’t do anything.
• What did you think you’d accomplish by doing another long ride? Did you think you’d learn something? Did you think you’d be faster than before? Did you think you’d impress your coworkers?
• Your priorities are messed up. You waste all your time riding instead of being with your family. Or writing a book. Finish this ride, then sell the bike. Grow up.
• Another guy just passed you. And he’s not going fast.
• You had a whole year to train and lose weight for this. So were the Oreos worth being fat and slow? Did they taste so good that you don’t mind being out here pushing your bike up a hill, when you could be finished right now?
• Do you think anyone would care if you quit? Nobody would. Get off your bike and tell people you were too sick to go on.

There are lots more — these are just the ones that come first to mind.

And yes, I always speak to myself in the second person during this stage. And yes, sometimes I do say these things aloud. And no, there’s never an angel sitting on my right shoulder, answering the demon sitting on my left. I never reply to the questions I ask myself. Continuing to turn the cranks seems like the only answer there is.

Comments (6)

Scoop: Armstrong Ties One Hand Behind Back

07.10.2005 | 10:27 am

“I’m Trying to Level the Playing Field,” Says Six-Time Tour Champ