I Rode With Elvis

Roj is one of my bestest friends in the whole world. He drew the buckaroo lobster in the masthead of this blog, the only tattoo I've ever gotten. But I haven't seen him in over ten years.

Not because he lives in Copenhagen or something. He lives in midtown. No, Roj is a bit of a hermit when he's not acting. If I really wanted to see him, I should have decided to shoot a movie. Then he'd show up.

Turns out, there's another soft spot. Cycling. JSC talked Roj into coming to Trek for the Monday night no-drop ride. No-drop is what I call the No Lardass Left Behind ride. And that's me, the one bringing up the rear huffing like he still smokes 3 packs a day (I quit 14 years ago).

Roj showed up, in character, with his Mongoose BMX bike, circa 1981. Restored including replacement decals. And a girlie backpack with a flashing light. And a skateboarding helmet.



I was reminded of one of my favorite books, Apathy and Other Small Victories by Paul Neilan.

I bought the bike from a junk shop for twelve dollars. It was an old-fashioned cruiser with a high aristocratic seat and handlebars, the kind beautiful Italian girls with perfect posture ride in films set in the 1940s, pedaling past olive groves...

...I thought I had some local color, some neighborhood folk hero charm...

...Until the day I caught my reflection in a storefront window. Sitting high on a girl's bike, my bulky rain pants yanked up to my neck, my shiny yellow Gorton's fisherman slicker, my tiny child's helmet like a vulcanized yarmulke on top of my head. Those smiles and thumbs-up were really saying, "Look at that retarded boy riding his bike in the rain. And all by himself too! Good for him!"

Okay, so Roj's bike isn't a girls' bike, but it has one gear and tiny wheels. And most of the riders in this group wear the full uniform of padded bike shorts, a rash-guard like shirt, a camel-pack, etc. Many have special pedals that require a shoe with a cleat that hooks in to allow them to pull as well as push the pedal.

I was so relieved. For once, I wouldn't be the slowest member of the group. The one the leader asks, 'Feeling energetic?' of before deciding whether to take the way he wants to go or the easy/short way.

Except Roj smoked me. I was riding a $2000 mountain bike borrowed from my brother (thanks Bro!), a bike so easy to propel I felt like I was cheating. And I was getting my ass handed to me by the goofy guy riding a child's plaything.

Oh, the shame except I love Roj. I prize eccentricity and have collected my share of strange friends. And if he's not the weirdest one, he's tied for first with someone.

Like I say, Bill Clinton was President last time I saw Roj, I think. Well, I saw him with his sister at a sidewalk cafe last year, but I was on the clock and on the move and couldn't stop. It felt like an Elvis sighting.

So I rode 12 miles in the sweltering heat and humidity of Monday evening (gotta train if I'm going to finish the MS ride—SPONSOR ME!!) with Elvis. I didn't even want to be outside, it was so hot. But if I'm going to do 170 miles in two days, I gotta train when I can. Help me out, I'm trying to talk Roj into riding, too. And he'll be the one on a BMX bike, nobody will believe it...