Had a good high the first day of the Giro and now it’s gone. I think you all know why, but, never fear, I will elaborate in excruciating detail.  I know that another high is coming soon with the baby, and my pain will subside -- but until then, I’ll enjoy the darkness.

 

So we won the TTT at the Giro, which is pretty cool.  The next day things were going ok until a bottle bounced out of Millar’s cage and into my path.  No big deal, I thought, just a bottle. But then, I hit the ground where the water had leaked and instantly slid out and crashed along with some others.  For all the safety regulations the UCI comes up with, here’s one more suggestion - inspect the bottle cages. I know there are some bottle cages out there that can properly hold the bottles. Furthermore, are we drinking out of BPA laced bottles??  

 

 

Now, we are on the ferry and there are a group of plain-clothed policemen that look like they are out of the movie Goodfellas.  They are smoking like there is no tomorrow right in front of a “No Smoking” sign.  What can I say?  We get to the other side and wait in the bus for the riders to make their way over.  We wait for about 4hrs and then get a phone call that we should leave for the hotel -- information that would have been nice to know 4hrs ago, but, oh well.  We head to the hotel.  It is a twisty road with high bridges and road construction, and it takes about 2hrs to get there.  We and the rest of the teams don’t arrive until 11 pm.  Bad for me -- and bad for the riders: no time for massages, late dinner and they have to get up and do it all over again the next day.  It’s just not cool to wake up, race, do a transfer to another location and arrive at 11 at night only to start all over again in a few  hours.  Just the racing part is hard enough on its own, but even so it can pale in comparison to what can happen next.  CV comes in to say goodnight and good-bye and when I ask him how the race was, he said it was crazy, and yet he seemed more taken with the situation after it was over.  He said there were 190 naked skinny bloody guys, otherwise known as the peloton, but without bikes crowded into a big room with 3 shower poles where everyone was trying to get cleaned up and then go catch the ferry.  He said he had heard some rumors of a protest for the next day - like they wouldn’t ride the first climb – but nobody really understands.  If the guys would realize that they are the most important ingredient to the race and just refuse to ride, we might finally get some consideration.  A few more people come in and say goodnight. I have trouble remembering as I was in the bathroom trying to get my bowels to move, but they would not.  I had stopped the pain meds pretty early in the day in hopes of a movement but, there I was, with nothing but some pain in the back when I tried to push.  I skip the meds before bed even though they were staring me in the face.  I really wanted a bowel movement before I traveled back to America.  I slept ok and woke up early enough to sit back on the toilet and give it a go.  I am trying to recall really calm moments in my life when I’ve taken some good ones but nothing. After about 30 minutes of this I look up and see a spider dangling from the ceiling. I grab the hand towel next to me and the movement begins….  Success, now I can take a few pills and dull the pain for the travel...  

 

My flight home is now confirmed and I’m on my way home.   Allen Lim is taking me to the airport.  I see O’Grady and McGee on my way out of the parking lot.  They were also leaving that day.  O’Grady finished the stage with a broken collarbone - he is the definition of hard.  

 

 

Allen and I drive to the airport and talk about other ways to make a living.  We get to the airport – it’s a really small one.  I don’t remember the name.  Allen finds a wheelchair, gets me checked in, and we say our goodbyes.  I am left at the security door as Allen goes back to the team to drive the second car in the caravan.  Looking quite helpless, I find myself getting a push from the security man all the way to the gate.  The woman behind the desk asks me if I am going on the flight and I say yes, and she puts me in line with the old Italians.  The one to my left looks really old.  Out of nowhere the song “Losing my Religion” by REM bellows out, and I realize it’s the cell phone ring of the really old guy to my left.  For some reason, I find it very amusing.  I still don’t even know how to install ring tones.  

 

They get me on the plane. I am going to Turino.  It is a bigger plane than I thought it would be and I am pretty comfortable.  We land and I get wheeled out to the ticket counter because I am changing to Air France at this point and heading to Paris where I will finally be on direct flight to LAX.  No big problems.  They give me my tickets and I get wheeled to the next plane.  On my way to Charles De Gualle, excited that I’m almost to the last leg of the trip.  We land in Paris and then the problems begin.  We go and park the plane but they don’t have any stairs to get us off so we wait and wait for about 45 minutes.  Finally everyone gets off.  I get in the wheelchair-carrying-machine-contraption, thinking everything is ok.  However, the woman starts wheeling me to the ticket counter.  I tell her to take me to my gate and that’s when she tells me the news – I missed my connection.  I’m sure you can imagine the feeling in my stomach at this point.  We go to an Air France desk and the guy starts looking at the ticket and at me and says it’s not a good day.  No shit.  I’m not sure why, but it took 1hr 30 min for him to fix everything.  He spent the most time booking me a hotel.  He said I could go to the Sheraton or the Pullman.  Sheratons are the best because they are walking distance to the airport and nice accomadations.  His boss okays the Pullman.  I said I’d prefer the Sheraton, but he says they’re the same.  I know they are not.  He also spends a lot of time on the logistics of getting me picked up with a wheelchair for the next morning.  When I leave, the guy said everything was taken care of; they were going to pick me up in the morning and get me on the plane.  Great, ok.  I get some help to the Pullman and check in.  A woman getting a plug adapter next to me is wearing a shirt that says Bejiing 2008 and my eyes water up, not knowing if I will make it now due to the current circumstances.  I finally get to the room and really lose it for a bit, then settle in and get room service.  By the way, it’s not just like the Sheraton.  The bed is old and saggy and has cigarette burns in the sheets.  Just one night, I tell myself.  Most of the time these things don’t bother me but at the moment I’m hypersensitive and would just like to be comfortable.   I go to bed.  

 

I wake up.  I walk downstairs and sit in the lobby. I can walk a short distance but it hurts and it’s slow.  I wait and wait and no one comes.  I start speaking to the hotel manager and he says be patient they will come.  I wait some more and I start thinking about how fucked I am and that my wife is about to go into labor and there is no way I am going to miss this flight.  They never come and the hotel finally has to provide a driver for me to get to the terminal.  I walk in and go to an Air France desk. “I need your help,” I say, and they get me another wheelchair.  We are off to the gate.  I go through security and have to stand up for a pat down.  That was about the last uncomfortable thing that happened.  When you’re hurt and missing skin the last the thing you want is a pat down.  Finally at the gate, finally going home.  

 

That was a big entry.  Thanks to all of you that have emailed me with your support. I read them all and they mean a lot to me.