Yesterday I lamented, on the Twittter, that there is too much of talk of cyclocross (in fucking May) and way too little talk of poop on my Twitter feed. It got me thinkin'...when I run into Big Bikes readers out in the real world, they tell me "Ya, your blog pretty much sucked before the Kimbo Slice post, and it has definitely sucked every day since the Kimbo Slice post. I keep coming back in hopes that you'll maybe, just maybe, do something close to that good, but all I am met with is disappointment." Which is awkward. Then they tell me that, next to the Kimbo post, "The Dog Shit On My Homework: A Poo Story," a tale of how I fell in dog poop on my way to class, is the best thing they've seen on the Big Bikes blog here. Yet somehow it does not show up in the top ten most-viewed posts list over on the sidebar there, and that stupid post called "Straight Outta Brompton" does (I'm not even gonna link to it because the post already gets more traffic than it should just because of the fact that it has made the top ten list.)
I have re-published "The Dog Shit On My Homework: A Poo Story" below in hopes that it will rise up the ranks of best viewed Big Bikes post and grace the top ten list on the sidebar. Being on that list is like being born rich — chances are you're gonna stay that way.
So here it is BAM!
The Dog Shit on My Homework: A POO Story
Most people have had that dream where they find themselves at school, wearing nothing but their underwear. Now have they had that dream because someone said to them at some point: "it's like that dream, y'know the one where you're at school in your underwear" ? Maybe no one had ever had that specific anxiety dream but one day some wise ass decided it would be funny to sort of plant it. Up until then anxiety dreams may have contained an entirely different metaphor.
Well I have a new anxiety dream to plant: finding yourself at school — covered in shit.
I hopped on my bike this morning to ride the hour up to school, rolling up the totally sick Minuteman Bikepath on my Cross bike. It's plowed through Lexington, after that things can get dicey (emphasis on the "icey" without the E). The plan was to peel off in Lexington center and head up Page Hill Rd. to school. But I ran into another rider coming the opposite way, "ahoy there matey! Is she clear to Bed-ferd?" (That's what I said, because that's how I talk in real life). "Ya, it's in great shape," he replied. "Aye, so ye arrr-en't goona play the talkin' like a pirate game arrr-e ye? Screw you then." And I pedaled away.
And the path was clear, at least was until I hit the Bedford line, then it went all to hell. I cursed the man who wouldn't play the talk a like a pirate game. He was no fun and he was a liar.
Inevitably I went down. Wicked hard. But I picked myself up, got back on my bike, and kept on riding. I stopped to take a photo of the ice, and that's when I saw it — poop on my handlebar. I grabbed some snow and wiped off the bar. Then I noticed my glove, it had poo on it too. I wiped my gloves off with snow as well. But the smell of poo remained. I felt like lady Macbeth, (mostly because I'd completely spaced it and had left the house still wearing my ruff). Then I noticed more poop on my ipod headphone cord, my eyes followed the trail of poop down to my hip, and to my horror, this is what I saw:
What the hell to do? I had tacked a 15 minute "eating breakfast buffer" to my commute time, but there I was, disrobing on the side of the path (it was 100% uninhabited) trying to get all this dog poop off my clothes. I was going to be late for sure. And when I got there I was going to smell like shit. Not the best way to show up to the first day of class, "Hi, I'm Thom, you already think I'm weird because I'm twice your age and I'm wearing a skin-tight-biking-faggot-suit. Oh, did I mention that I like to roll in shit on the way to school? It's better than coffee, it really gets me all jazzed up! Why are you looking at me like that? Is it because it's not cool to say 'jazzed up!' anymore?"
Luckily (I can't believe I'm using that word in a story that involves me slipping on ice and falling in shit) I had decided to do something kind of weird this morning. I knew it was going to jump from the low thirties to over 40° by the time I had to ride home. I wanted to have the most versatile outfit possible, so I had donned two sets of shorts and leg warmers. Normal. Hey, the two chamois pads stacked up like that...great way to ease your backside into the base miles.
I took off my second, outer shorts and stashed them behind a cylindrical concrete thing (pictured above at the top there) so I could pick them up later. I thought about what someone might think if they happened upon the shit-covered shorts. Would they think that a cyclist had crapped his pants then ridden home naked from the waist down? I hoped so.
It seemed like I had done a fairly good job of eliminating all shit-covered materials. There was no visible poop on my person, so I spun the rest of the way up to school. Somehow I wasn't all that late, walking into an almost full classroom. I bee-lined it for a desk in the far, front corner, as far away from the rest of the students as possible. Just as I had settled in, a big waft of poo-smell hit me. Oh god. I subtly checked to see if there was any poo on my Craft outer layer, deciding to take it off and chuck it in the corner with my vest, gloves, and helmet just in case. But still — poo smell. I watched the kid next to me for any kind of reaction, a telltale sign of acknowledgment, like the pulling up of his shirt over his mouth and nose...he appeared oblivious.
Still it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the fact that I was sitting in a packed classroom, reeking of dog shit. Whether the kid next to me noticed or not didn't matter, I was convinced that I was destined to become "that kid," you know, the one who comes to school smelling like pee or ham sandwiches.
"Thom P?...more like Thom Poo."