Fifty two and still can't wheelie

That ride I did this past Saturday in the heat of Satan's asshole melted part of my brain.  I assume it wasn't a part that I needed since I was still able to breathe and also think semi-clearly.  

Semi.

I promised myself a plate of spaghetti and a nap... after a cool shower.

Right before I headed into my blacked-out boudoir, I peeped out the front door for random packages as we all do (the Pavlovian response to seeing a delivery truck in the neighborhood, despite not actually recently ordering anything).  Something brown and large propped against the wall just outside the door caught my eye.

Double take.  No, I'm not seeing things.

The first thing my addled brain thought was that Tom at Vassago just up and sent me a Radimus Ti outta the kindness of his heart.  That didn't make sense on so many levels, one being that it was too lightweight, two being that it was extremely narrow, three being because there will still seventeen more reasons against such stupidity.

Read the label...

Huh.  Moocher?  Because I am one who exploits the generosity of others?   Perhaps my semblance to one of the characters with the same moniker in the movie Breaking Away?

If you're not familiar with this cult classic cycling film, you figure out which one I'm supposed to be.

Open the box, behold the glory...

Obvs the latter and not the former.  The Pie was fully on board with proudly placing this in the dining area.

Anyways, turns out it was a gift from my friend Kangalangamangus.  Being that it's my birthday today, I'm gonna call it my birthday present since The Pie and I don't do such things.  Mebbe if I'm lucky, work will give me gift card to Jason's Deli or something later today.  Dunno.

I'm truly touched.  This moment captures more of me than 99.9% of all "race" images that I've seen before.

Me, feeling joy on a bike, not a care in the world.  Just doing fuck all for no good reason on my fun bike.  My only real  regret was being between sponsor appropriate jorts mid-week.  Good thing I just got the new light blue ones to get me over any future laundry day hump. 

Of course, after mounting it up on the wall (level according to the bubble, but not according to my crooked and also lumpy wall), The Pie stood back and said, "You know we'll have to display this at your memorial."

This is fine be me, as long as it's some time from now... although I hope to have plenty more opportunities ahead of me to make an ass of myself.

Carpe derp'em and all that.

Fifty two, which according to Wikipedia, is the natural number following fifty one and preceding fifty three, the number of letters in the English alphabet (if majuscules are distinguished from minuscules), and the car number of retired NASCAR driver Jimmy Means  

That's pretty deep.