Oh Interbike, where art thou?

Without fail, I talk about going to Interbike right about this time every year. I never end up going, and I hardly pursue it further than just talking about it here on the blog. Why should this year be any different?

I just remembered that The Boy has me on his list for flight benefits (my son works in the wonderful world of aviation). This means I may or may not be able to get there on the cheap, depending on whether or not there are empty seats on a flight to Vegas. This is an impetus for a chain of thought. Maybe there's some sort of possibility I could make it out there to rub shoulders with the industry elite, or perhaps just to rub the shoulders of the industry elite.

Herein lies the problematic parts of the equation (assuming I could get on a flight for $0 or close to it):

I am Dicky Non Grata (an unwelcome Dicky). Although I am unofficially the Chief of Industry, I do not have an invite to the party. I was not forward thinking enough to contact any of my sponsors to see if they had any leftover golden tickets, and I don't have time to change my Dirt Rag Contributor business cards to Dirt Rag Important Guy Who Writes Stuff. I could possibly be smuggled onto the premises inside Dejay's facial hair. This option has not been ruled out by any means, but I have been informed that security measures are in place just to stop these kinds of shenanigans.

I have no place to stay. I have money with which I could obtain a place to stay, but this would definitely fall into the "unbudgeted bike expense" column, thus taking money away from stupid, ill-advised, regrettable tire purchases in the off-season. I would need floor space for my evening's slumber, something slightly better than under a slot machine... but only slightly.

There is no reason for me to be there. I am not in search of a new sponsor of any type, not that I'm not willing to listen to proposals. I'm just not actively doing anything that would require activity in an active sense. I have no agenda, no purpose, and nothing to gain but gain itself. Beer, blog fodder, camaraderie, and blatant self promotion by means of slurring "Hey, do you read my blog?" to random passerby's. That's the best I could hope for.

So what will it take for me to go to the 2011 Interbike? A miracle on the part of an airline's inability to fill a flight to capacity, a floor that can accommodate a small man that doesn't smell too strongly of urine (the floor not the small man), and someone that can vouch that I won't steal anything that isn't nailed down.

I don't think that's too much to ask, do you?

I've tried my facefriends for some help. Not so much:

This plan is being pursued, in as much that I have contacted The Boy and inquired about flights. This plan has not yet reached " half-assed" status, but it is far beyond the "1/10 ass" status that any previous Interbike travel plan has ever reached.

Will this be the year that Dicky goes to Interbike?

Probably not, but we can all hope.