Greetings campers and Cirque survivors
Hey, I warn you now, this is going to be more scrambled and rambling than usual. Still trying to stage a semi-graceful return to real life. Catching up on sleep, calories, and meds, all of which get lost in the mayhem for a few days in May. Wish people here were wearing name tags, but as long as I get the spousal unit's name right I probably won't get into too much trouble. Who are these people, and why are they trying to make me work?
Always difficult heading out of Greensboro Monday morning. Really hit the wall Sunday night, too tired to ride Monday and couldn't think of any legitimate excuse to stay another day. Totally talked-out and laughed-out, and nobody left to play with. Might as well drive home. The Cirque is a great escape while it lasts. Returned home to the in-laws waiting in ambush, snow & frost, living room cluttered with foliage from the spousal unit's multiple trips to multiple greenhouses, and other minor homeowner horrors. There was a bike in there somewhere before I left, but too tired to find my machete and hack a path to it. Maybe I'll delay the rescue mission and just hope for warmer weather that will allow the plants to migrate back outside. It's Wednesday, and I haven't even unpacked the car yet. Ready for a quick exit if I need one, but nowhere to escape to until October.
A relatively uneventful trip for a change, except for a brief detour when I-581 was shut down by a multi-car pile up. The result was an unplanned, self-guided driving tour of the captivating and intriguing used car lot/ pawnshop/ street vendor district of Roanoke VA. Take a tip from your old Uncle Lar. ALWAYS have the road atlas within easy reach, even in familiar territory. Ya just never know........ But why would anybody buy a vacuum cleaner on impulse, from a street vendor? Is there somewhere I can plug this in to try it out here in the weeds and gravel? Oh well, I guess I'LL be the one who feels stupid next time I spill 25 kernels of popcorn in a straight line, or drop M&Ms on the hardwood floor, or happen to have the fridge up on wheels and feel some strange compulsion to pull it around the kitchen using the vacuum hose, or just feel the need to vacuum the dandelions in the driveway, and I don't have a Ronco Super-Suck handy. Woe is me. But I'll know where to find one.
Also couldn't help but notice a sudden proliferation of businesses along the way run by people with the first name "Big". Big Daddy's, Big Papa's, Big Bird's, Big B's. I don't know what it means. And the military surplus / commando outlet biz seems to have gone wild since last year. Competition in that business could be anything but friendly. Silly me, I invested in old bikes instead of fear and loathing. Might have to rethink that plan.
Accidental musical theme songs for the drive were Lance's girlfriend singing "A Change will do you Good", and Mark Knopfler plunking away on the dobro singing "Ooooh, are We in Trouble Now". How did they know?
Always enjoy other people's comments about the weekend, especially first timers, and catching up on some of the insanity I missed. Too much happening to see it all. Too many people to meet and annoy them all. Yes folks, it really is this good. If I ever so much as mumble a word about not wanting to do this again some year, the spousal unit will drag me off to the emergency room.
Only a few observations to add to what has already been written. Best Flintstones moment was Fred & Barney (I am not at liberty to divulge their true identities) trying unsuccessfully to remove a Stronglight crank from some poor mangled French bike at the swap, using a B-F-hammer and chisel. I have pictures, which I promised not to post after my silence was purchased. Payment was made in the form of a Raleigh Pro frame. "Blackmail" is such an ugly word. I prefer "extortion".
The "Older & Wiser" award goes to anybody who slept in long enough to avoid the Saturday morning "sprint" and was there to welcome the panting riders back, from the comfort of the chairs in the lobby of the Battleground.
"Crazed Woobie" award goes to Jan Heine for his wide-eyed and white-knuckled 2-wheeled excursion on Mike Self's Longstaff trike. Never did figure out if that was a smile on his face, or sheer terror, but I really enjoy those unscheduled events in the parking lot.
Escaped relatively unscathed from the "redistribution of assets" phases of the weekend. The Bob Jackson was too small, the Falcon was too large, but the scruffy Raleigh Pro frame was just right (and I did have the photos in lieu of legal tender....). There did seem to be a cosmic conspiracy at work here though. Suddenly found most of the missing parts for a project I've been ignoring since the last time I blew paint in it's general direction back in 1977. During a moment of extreme financial duress back then I had sold off some of the Campy components from my old 69/70 white Raleigh Pro. Was inspired this winter to reassemble it with components on hand, and rode it enough to be glad I dragged it around the country with me all these years. At the Cirque I took delivery of wheels (Even had C.A.M. 69 hubs! That's gotta be a sign.), and found a "PATENT" NR rear der, and a 44 tooth chainring with appropriate small lettering. Even saw an AVA death stem for sale but I already had one tucked away in case I was ever silly enough to install one again. (No, I'm not. One thrill ride, perhaps the inspiration for the Crazed Woobie award series, was quite enough thank you very much.). No good excuse now not to proceed with that project. Anybody out there know how to paint bikes?
Been making this pilgrimage long enough now that I'm developing a strange relationship with Bambi, the billboard temptress for the strip club near the VA/NC border. I get excited when I see her Thursday evening because I know I'm almost to Greensboro and the fun is about to begin. Next thing I know it's Monday morning, I wake up dazed and confused with only vague recollections of what might have happened over the weekend. My money is gone, SHE's gone, and I still don't know her real name. Better not tell the spousal unit.
Returned home to discover that even the nice ladies at the credit union have tuned into this annual ritual. Spousal unit was in there while I was away, to do some non-routine transaction that required a fairly substantial amount of money, and before she could explain the true nature of the transaction they assumed I had blown our savings on bike junque (NO, I did not bid on the Confente), and expressed their sympathies and condolences, and said something to the effect that if I was their husband they would strangle me (Oooooh, how many times have I heard THAT!. Get in line ladies. Wait your turn.). At least I know who's side they're on, and I won't dare turn my back on them on my way back out the door. The upside is that they didn't immediately assume she had to bail me out of jail, so their opinion of me could actually be lower. At least until they find out about Bambi.
Thanks Dale. You do manage to attract a terrific bunch of kooks every year. To those of you still uncertain or unconvinced, come as you are. Bring what you have. Stay as long as you possibly can. Be open to the opportunities. You won't be disappointed.
I gotta go sharpen my machete.
Osborn
Bruceton Mills WV