A wise man named John Allis (wow! a Wiki page, someone's been busy) once said, "The best cyclists have the worst sense of direction," (I have no doubt quoted this before). His meaning: cyclists who get lost on training rides and end up doing more miles than they set out to do end up stronger for it. Back in his day all the other riders were touting the merits of using a compass and sextant, he wasn't having any of it. And he showed them what was up at the races.
I've taken things a pedal stroke further (hur!). Not only do I have a horrible sense of direction, I have now begun a strict regimen of imagining appointments and forgetting personal items in far way places. A few weeks back I rode to work wearing a pair of Tifosi glasses. When I went to ride in the next morning, I realized I'd left my "A glasses" at work. So I donned a second pair and...straight to punchline: I did the same exact thing two more times, leaving a grand total of three pair of glasses at work. There they stayed until today, when I made a special trip over to get them although I wasn't actually working.
Was forgetting my glasses at work three times in a row the dumbest thing I've done recently? No, not really. Today I rode over to the Newton shop "for a Trek/Fisher clinic." I have to learn to skim my emails better. I'll put that on the long list of crap I must master by the time I'm 40. I showed up to the shop and almost no one was there. "It must be over at the Boston shop, man I'm an idiot!" No, I am a much bigger idiot than that. Right shop, wrong week. The email said Wednesday February 3rd. That's a week from now they tell me.
Would I have gone for a ride at 8:15 AM today if I hadn't hallucinated an appointment? I seriously doubt it. My sense of accomplishment for getting so much done by noon was only eclipsed by my sense of being such a raging idiot.
On the upside, when I was at the Boston shop Uri said "Hey-A Thom PEEEE, what's that on your bag — a whistle?" It was, I have owned a Detours River City pack for over a year and a had neglected to notice that it has a whistle on the sternum strap (you can see it, it's that orange thing in the upper left photo).
We couldn't decide whether it was a rape whistle or a bear whistle or a bear-rape whistle. When you get charged by a bear you never really know whether it wants to kill you or hump you. Better start whistling just to be safe.