I ambled by the LBS yesterday to pick up a few last minute gels…for the Mohican. No, I don’t normally snack on them. What are you, malfunct?
Smug guy wearing a beard and cycling cap says to me: “You’re the guy interested in the Krampus?”
I’d walked past the Krampus by the door without fondling it, but just barely.
“Yeah,” I said suspiciously.
“Y’know, we have two of them,” he gestured invitingly toward the swamp green monstrosities near the front of the building. His LBS compadres tittered.
“C’mere, I’m gonna slap you!” I replied. I can get away with this because I’m a customer, and the customer is always right, whereas the LBS employee should never, ever, never, ever taunt someone in the throes of Krampus addiction. I gave up chasing him around the shop because I didn’t want to deplete my glycogen stores.
“I could write you a check,” I offered. Of course, I know the balance of my checking account—even if there were to be enough dinero there to pay off the Surly whoremongers that have constructed the Krampus in the fiery bowels of a volcano on Mustafar it would leave my family destitute until such time as I could sell a kidney. But then I wouldn’t be able to ride the fair beast until I’d recovered from surgery so that wouldn’t really be an option.
“Or maybe…WHAT’S THAT?!” I cried, momentarily directing their attention to the empty parking lot on the north side of the building as I leapt astride the Krampus by the door, cranked hard to build up speed, crashed through the glass and aluminum opening, ripping the door from its frame, structurally compromising the front wall of the building, and making a spectacular getaway while spinning easily so as not to endanger my success at the Mohican tomorrow by going anaerobic too soon.
I’m writing this from an undisclosed location nowhere near a straightline path from Lexington to Loudonville, Ohio. So go ahead coppers, try and catch me! I think I’ve got a good shot at winning tomorrow on my new bike with the motivation of the chase. Your best chance will be at the finish line. Make sure you grab me when you can. I’ll be the first guy across; just disregard that physical description you have in your hand right now. I’ll be in disguise and so will my Kramply steed. Of course I’ll deny everything and claim to be someone else. Of course I will. If you torture me enough I’ll confess, and then you can put me away for a very long time, confiscate my bike, and stop looking for me altogether.
Also, as I crashed through the front of the LBS I snagged one of those snappy new jersey and bib kits they just got in. Those things are sweet. They should totally sponsor me. I love the white vintage lettering on the black background. My size is “fatter-than-average” so I’ll keep wearing the women’s medium I grabbed, but would appreciate it if you would overnight me a properly sized kit to “General Delivery, Loudonville, OH 44842.” Include instructions for the postmaster to put it in the drop bag at aid station 3 labeled “K. Rampus.” I’ll have an agent make the swap. No funny stuff, or the Krampus dies!
Well, no, I wouldn't do that. I'd do anything for love...but I won't do that.