One of the bicycle clubs we belong to puts on a members only, low-cost, fully supported/sagged tour each year. This year we went from Gold Hill, Oregon down to the coast along the Rogue River to Gold Beach, Oregon; to Crescent City, CA, and then diagonally back up to Gold Hill. The Pansys went along as (1) food truck driver/Mr. Pansy; and (2) sag wagon driver/Pansy herself. Because the original drivers bailed at the last minute or came to their senses(!) and the Pansys are reknowned as "go to" people. Really.
2/3 of the group had no idea who we are or, at most, just that we were club members. 1/3 of the group knows us very well. We have been club members since 1986. The 2/3 group, to the Pansys' great astonishment, treated us (The Reknowned Go To-ers!) in quite a demeaning manner. All week. It was strange. Could someone explain to me what makes cyclists on a supercheap tour get all full of thinking they have some sense of entitlement? Naturally, this only brought out the Very Most Pansyish Behavior from The Pansy.
TRAVEL TO OREGON DAY: I work very hard to memorize all names to faces. And keep at it until by bedtime I had them all in place. Because I want to be a very good sag driver and really make them feel watched over and cared for. There is one particularly bristly guy who was especially aggressive and unfriendly. I make a snarky remark along the lines of "Oh. I see I shall have to make you my bitch this week." He responds with a simply scathing "No. You won't." My peeps (the 1/3 group) who are nearby and overhear this exchange all burst into laughter and say "Bristly Guy, our money is on Pansy. You are going down."
DAY ONE: I get dressed in "easily identifiable at 500 yards" clothing so that the riders will know it's ME and proceed to do my first ever stint as a sag driver. I rescued 3 people that day.
FIRST RESCUE: A guy had a flat tire so I skid around in a dirt/rock throwing u-turn, park near him, leap out with water bottles and snacks and a floor bike pump and a first aid kit. After a few moments of conversation, he makes me realize he is not with our group while begging me to stop bandaging his hands behind his back. He says "Maybe I know some of your group. What are their names?" I mention about 4 and then say "Wait. Where are you from?" He says "Oregon." I laugh and say we are all from California so he couldn't possibly know anyone. Then it dawns on me what his scheme is and I screech at him "What kind of creep are you? Now I suppose you are going to steal the identities of the people whose names I just gave you!" We laugh, I fuel him up, he's on his way. Shaken but okay.
SECOND/THIRD RESCUES: An older couple (probably in their 50's!) rides by the turnoff where I have parked to make sure no one misses the turnoff. I peel out, race to cut them off, leap out and yell "You missed the turn off. It's back there." Yeh, they, too, claimed they were not part of my group. We chit chat anyway, I fuel THEM up with water, snacks, etc. And we all go our own way.
People look different with helmets and sunglasses on. So I re-memorize the group that night.
DAY TWO: The Pansys wake up, declare to each other "this is the longest week of my life" and promptly burst into tears when we realize it is only Monday morning. But I dutifully get into more "identifiable clothing" and go on with my rescuing ways. Bristly Guy says to me "I hear you and I graduated from the same high school in the same year." We discuss names we recall and determine there is no degree of any kind of separation between us when I suddenly shout: "Wait! Why are you breaking our sworn oath that we would never acknowledge each other in public again? Especially after I had to pay those people to take the ugly babies? And what makes you think those were your babies anyway? You were just one in a Very Long Line of other guys that night of the Sophomore Sock Hop. Just deal with it, dude!" He (and the nearby campers in the KOA) looked shocked.
DAY THREE: Four events:
1. My maps are taken by a rider since he couldn't find HIS maps. I AM THE SAG DRIVER! DO NOT TAKE SAG DRIVER MAPS! I seethe/smirk/plot all day for an appropriate punishment.
2. We are setting up camp on the grounds of a junior high school for which we have paid, have insurance riders, receipts and all. But that is the day all the sports teams were to practice and we are on their lawn. Snafu, but not our fault. Big, snarly men come over and demand to know what we are up to. The principal and the superintendent of schools arrive and snarl at us. A police cruiser came through. After appropriate papers are produced they leave. What was particularly intriguing is that all these authorities made extreme efforts to NEVER look directly at me, not even in my direction. Their efforts were so obvious that the cyclists all burst into laughter afterward. I was in a particularly extreme Pansy suit.
3. I finally have hit upon the perfect punishment for map stealer. He is about 80 so I can't do anything too physical to him but then the perfect punishment is really the one that perfectly matches the crime. You want to take the Sag driver's maps? Then you will BECOME the sag driver and I dressed him up in Pansy Clothing. To the great delight of the crowd and he was embarrassed but ecstatic to be a Pansy Victim (aren't they all?). He was precious. But he did wear the clothing/makeup/wig just a wee bit too long and made a lot of us uncomfortable.
Earlier this day, I decided to stop by a thrift store to find stuff for the Map Stealer. I was in an "outfit" and walked in, put my hands on my hips and yelled "Don't tell me there isn't something in this store for me!" I explained my situation to the open-mouthed people and said that while I wasn't certain what I needed/wanted, I WAS certain I would recognize it when I saw it. They tried to sell me a bath rug shaped like a bear skin. No. Then they looked for feathery, ruffly things. Nope. And then, there it was: a rack full of old, huge, nastily-stained grannie bras. Eureka! Map Stealer wears a 48DD. The bra, when being placed upon Map Stealer, was heard to whimper "it's a good thing I am already dead."
The store people groveled to get me to come back when they had a camera so they could take a picture. I said "No, I am from California, so let's do it this way: we'll take the pictures with my camera, give me your email address and I'll send them to you." Then I goofed in the front of their store, posing in the royal purple velvet La-Z-Boy and yelling at the employee to work with me. Just like a runway model diva. It took awhile to get a decent picture since he was shaking the camera too much from laughing. Perhaps crying. Hard to say. The store is called "Maybe This?" and they felt I embodied the concept of that name.
4. Bristly Guy said to me: (well, I'm going to make you wait for THAT).
Turns out Bristly Guy is an attorney (hahahhaha) but we have not crossed professional paths. However, he is a regular poker player with the Tour Leader and as time/beers/wine go by we actually bond and he is quite likeable and vice versa. We then turn on Tour Leader (to whom snarky attorney boy had gone to on Day One....I think to complain about me making him my bitch!) and declare that we are now best friends and that we don't like Tour Leader anymore. Tour Leader's crestfallen face was delightful! Don't worry, I will tell you what Bristly Guy said. Later.
DAY FOUR: My 19-day old cell phone (birthday gift from Baby Pansy) gets stolen. Bristly Guy's best friend from his early high school years comes to the junior high where we are camping. Best friend had been the principal there until last year when he won several million in a lottery and promptly retired. So I extensively smear on him about his "dedication to the youth of America" and how the lottery had fully exposed what kind of person he really is. Bristly Guy and I tell him about how we have become best friends on this tour. Then lottery winner and I end up best friends, turn on Bristly Guy and tell him he is no longer OUR friend. I never said I wasn't fickle.
DAY FIVE: We have a 6 mile stretch of road that is far too dangerous to bike across so we set up a staging/sagging zone in the parking lot of a hotel. Which did not know of and is not getting anything for this invasion of their property. Good planning there, Tour Leader! The Pansys go in first thing in the day, buy snacks and drinks at the bar and chat up the workers. Tell them what's up, gripe about how we have been mistreated, etc. Make friends. I go out to the parking lot, change into my "identifiable clothing" of the day and start ferrying riders.
The other sag driver shows up and (a) unloads her two dogs, in cages, onto the lawn. Next to the sign "Absolutely No Dogs. No Way." (b) parks in the handicapped zone (c) on her first ferrying trip promptly backs into a light post in the parking lot, knocking the post completely down and breaking the light. The Big Pooh Bahs of the club went into the hotel, told them of the damage, and gave them $200 cash on the spot. Nice, except for they talked down to the hotel people as badly as they treated the Pansys. "This is certainly FAR MORE money than the damage warrants so be glad we are giving you money without making you go through insurance hassles."
I, not knowing of this little exchange, later in the day went in (in "identifiable clothing" outfit) to order a lunch to go and give them an "award" for the broken post light. It was a plaster of paris flying eagle, with a broken wing. Do not ask Pansy why she has these kinds of things with her. She just "knows" what to pack. Sometimes it's handcuffs, sometimes its broken winged eagle trophies. I am there with the last 3 bikers to shuttle and they are my peeps. I make a grand presentation of the eagle award and realize the people are pretty tweaked off. Just like ME! So we commiserate, I apologize for the Pooh Bahs, they even said "well, we kind of knew about this because a couple came in this morning and told us." I raise my hand and say "That would be me and my husband." They stare and stare at me and finally recognize me. And burst out laughing. As we wait for my food to go, I riff on the men sitting out in the car (including Tour Leader), things in general, and we all had a great time. It's good to make friends.
DAY SIX AND SEVEN: Who cares? More maltreatment from the 2/3 group, etc. But the week goes by, we drive home to live another day.
Each night we would have a "Heave the Huffy" contest. We each would toss a child's size Huffy bicycle. Teams were (a) the cook crew for the day and (b)the worker's crew (that would be us mistreated peons and Tour Leader). Yes, I, weakling NO DISCERNABLE BICEPS Pansy threw the Huffy 30 feet. Farther than any other woman and up in the Top 5 overall. Unfortunately, that 30 footer was as a DH (designated heaver) for an injured old man (probably in his 50s!) on another team. Which I did not duplicate for MY team (only 24 feet, but still further than #2 woman who managed 22 feet). So, MY team came in 4th place and injured old man's team stole 3rd place. Tour Leader emailed everyone the results and asked me to bring my Benedict Arnold outfit for next year. I responded: I would, but my suitcase is already full with my "F Street Landlady" outfit. That would be an obscure reference to Dorothea Puente, notorious murderess in Sacramento. She killed 7 or 9 of her Social Security tenants and kept collecting their benefit checks. For years. And here I have a daily fight with Social Security over MY benefits. I tell ya, where is the justice? But I do have my new friend, the lawyer....
AND NO, I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN TO TELL YOU WHAT BRISTLY GUY SAID TO ME ON DAY THREE!
The VERY BEST of all of this was what Bristly Guy said to me, in his efforts to "place" me from high school: "Hey. Wait. Did you used to be thin?"
HEY....WAIT..... DID....YOU....USED....TO....BE....THIN?
I thought I would never stop laughing. And he truly looked horrified and dismayed with what his mouth had done to him. What kind of crack (using?) attorney is he? How could he soooo mal-express himself? Of course, I knew what he meant since I did not hit 100 pounds until the August after I graduated from high school. It was quite the priceless moment for Pansy.
When I Used To Be Thin (that's me on the left and my stupid elderly baby sister on the right----yeh, we've been giving men "groin cramps" all our lives!):
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