777 = 8

Just to keep my Heckawee buddy The Champ in disbelief mode, I'm not going to post any pictures from today's thrilling cyclocross race in Palos Verdes, where I wore the race number 777 (Lucky 777, the announcer said) and ended up coming in 8th place, not last place. Actually, I can't post any pictures today because I don't have the cord handy that connects my camera to my computer. Or something.

Maybe Tuesday I'll get around to it. Tomorrow, it's cartoon time again on account my pointless blogger dream is to alternate media from post to post (and it's much more fun making stupid cartoons than writing blogs). And yeah, I know nobody is reading, in case you think I'm deluded on these matters.

Anyway, it's never worth summarizing one's experience in any kind of race - well, I'll retract that a little bit: If you feel some sort of therapeutic need to tell the tale of your event experience (you did a triathlon for the first time; you completed your first century ride on your bicycle; you finished the Race Across America; et cetera), then by all means you should tell the tale. But if you race a lot, if being a racer is your identity - well, I'll retract that a little bit more: If you really have to tell people about your racing experience, sit your friends down, sit your family down, and go through the entire race, pedal stroke by pedal stroke, and see if they like it any better than when your uncle Butch made everybody sit in his living room and watch slides of his ice-fishing tour of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. In other words, to tell a great race story is really to not tell the story at all. Not that I can tell a great race story. Today's race? I hadn't raced cyclocross for two full years, and goddammit, I showed up at the starting line and and raced as hard as I could and didn't finish last. And it was fucking awesome!

Next story?

I'll be back racing on December 20 in Woodland Hills. Between now and then, I need to train hard and work hard at my desk and ease up on the plankton.....