24 hours until the Black Hills Olympic Triathlon-Cutter Battle Royale is on! No pay-per-view channels have committed to televising the BHOTCBR YET. Lance’s desperation is becoming more evident by the day. Tuesday he emails asking if I want to do a “short easy spin” Thursday afternoon. I reply that I do and then he tells me the route. . . a medium distance, hilly ride, that you can’t spin easily without falling over. AS IF I was going to take that bait. Oldest trick in the book, try to blow up the old guy 48 hours out. He forgot the wiley part of the old and wiley equation.

So here’s the email I sent him this morning:

Like Michelangelo touching up a masterpiece, I spun easily at the Y this morning for 35 minutes and then ran on the dreadmill for 10. All systems go.

Here’s the reply:

Dude, do yourself a favor and don’t show.  I will accept your concession speech.  My 20 mile spin this afternoon was on fire!  My legs were like lightning and the new tires were like riding on greased rails.  Grease Lightning. I stopped by Bike Tech to true my rear wheel.  The mechanic saw my avg speed on my Garmin and they offered me full sponsorship right there on the spot I didn’t want to ruin my eligibility so I declined, but they gave me a bunch of cool schwag incl. an awesome $220 waterproof cycling jacket for $100 and my wheel, brakes, and headset all fixed for free. No Michaelangelo here.  Rather I just put the final edge on my carving knife.  The course is my platter and you, my friend, are the turkey.  Tru dat! P.S. I would carpool with you, but you probably won’t want to stick around that long after the race to watch me receive my second consecutive podium medal and the Cutter Trophy.  On second thought you might be just finishing about the time the award ceremony is starting so perhaps that will work after all.

Let’s examine his message a little more closely. “Don’t show.” Right, you wish. I have a nine year streak going. It’s going to take a lot more than a juiced up delusional dreamer to keep me from toeing the line. “The mechanic saw my avg speed….” This one’s easy, the mechanic didn’t realize Lance uses kilometers as a nod to his European fans. Wowwwww, 25k per/hour, I’m scared. “Full sponsorship” is what Lance heard, but here’s what they actually said. “Give yourself a fighting chance against old and wiley. Buy a new bike and we’ll throw in a water bottle cage.” “Tru dat!”, no, no, tell me he’s not stealing my signature line. There will be a price to pay for that.

Here’s my final prediction. Lance will cross the line before me, but only because his swimming wave begins six minutes before my geezer one. His kids won’t realize that when I cross the line five and a half minutes after their dad, I’ll retain my crown and accept all the accolades that come with it. Here’s a preview of the podium. (Lance is the younger, taller, more handsome, slower guy on the far right.)

Left to Right, Bronze, Gold, Silver

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