Chasing Pussy, Getting Stiffed

I wanted it, I couldn’t get it. If I was to get it, I couldn’t decide between spanking it, loving it, or leaving it. I searched, I hunted, I cat called, but that pussy was elusive. I was getting desperate and blue, like the Pacific over Malibu.

I knew not to let it happen. I corralled Che when I was about an hour away from departure. The previous month was filled with big time decisions, the previous weeks with life’s transitions and the past few days with backbreaking hauling, cleaning (spank you black hammer) and condo improvements (spank you gym rat and Isaacs). All I really wanted was to be done with home and on my way to wine country to start the bike racing adventure of 2008. What I got was a beyond frustrating day of testing my patience (I have none) and figuring out if the trip would even happen. He's a good kitty, when sleeping.

Up ahead lies roads not traveled (I’m 72 miles from Winnemuca as I type), behind me the best group of peeps within the first real community I’ve ever been a part of. The future holds a promising planning career in the resplendent wine country of Sonoma County with its proximity to both the city and the rugged Mendocino Coast – that place has culture galore and rides to die for. The trade off has been letting go of landscape, rural roads, perfect weather, and an utter absence of traffic, crime or pollution. But in this moment, none of that mattered. The car was packed with three bikes, all the goods needed for 10 races in 4 states, a gimpy dog and work clothes for the first few weeks in Santa Rosa. What was missing was Che el Rey, el gato revolucionario. He smelled the departure and like all good revolutionaries, he rebelled. So there was no way to leave. I had to wait, and wait, and wait. One, two, five, six hours went by. No pussy kitty.

For ten years, the most predictable, loving, caring and smelly (pussy breath - ewe) creature in my life was gone and not coming home, not with all the landscaping leaf blowers, paint guns, and construction around the complex. Because I was dumb enough to let him out, I was paying the ultimate price. The irony! I was imprisoned in SLO town, the place I most hated to leave until the very moment I was ready to go. Much like the time I forgot to set the parking break on my car in my steep driveway and let it roll into my neighbor’s kitchen, thus prompting a $30k “remodel,” I was once again reminded how expensive it is to be dumb. Many of you know, others can only imagine, stupidity is so spendy… need any proof, look at our national economy!

Miss Hernandez to rescue. I found a lovely lassy to, in the event the pussy returns, keep Che fed and watered until mid July. So off like a prom dress – after six hours of dancing and cat calling, the spaghetti straps were torn and the silk hit the ground as fast as gravity would accelerate it (9.8 meters per second, per second).

A sundowner ride awaits in the Wasatch, an evening with Kotval in Park City. Craig is in good spirits (shown here with a message of sorts and the backdrop of the Bonneville Salt Flats) and despite Karen’s farewell dinner of baked beans and coleslaw, he’s not too gassy so far. The minivan has two racers in the front, five steeds in the back (Clapper!) and the adventure has begun. The motif of the trip, as we cross out into this great nation of ours – liberal, progressive, conscientious (that’s the hypothesis) – is that Craig and I are “on our honeymoon from San Francisco, courtesy of Gavin Screwsome, Mayor extraordinaire.” You should have seen the looks on the faces of the gals at the counter in Reno, Nevada when I let them know such. We about died of laughter. One turned bright red, giggled, and said, “Yeah, I guess with the new ruling in California, we’ll be getting our share of San Francisco honeymooners up in the Tahoe area.” Wildfires aside, Craig quipped, “It’s all about a smokin’ good time this trip!” The lady to the right had a cartoon caption coming out of her head, “OH MY gOD, dem dar’s some gay folk!” She didn’t look at us, didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. All she could muster was a nervous manning of her computer screen. She was as anxious for us to leave as I am to try our skit out in a diner in Lincoln, Nebraska.


And by the way, the rides up East Canyon, Emigration Canyon, along with the sunset in Park City come highly recommended.