I was startled awake in my dream by the cycling wizard in my room.
‘How did you get in here!’ I exclaimed in shock, at first thinking the wizard was Gary Fisher due to his handlebar mustache, but I quickly realized he was too short and too sober in his demeanor.
‘We have a long day ahead of us if we are to gather a sufficient quantity of oscillating gnomes before the race – my name is Paul.’ He said as he extended his hand to pull me from my slumbers. For some reason I did not understand, he insisted that we leave by the window. We removed our cycles from the stable and departed.
‘We have a lengthy transport stage ahead of us before we get to the good stuff. Stay close.’ Paul whispered as we departed the walled compound of the quicky mart and rode off into the evening gloam.
After several hours of traversing rolling hills of vineyards and sleepy Amish homesteads we turned off the paved lane and entered some gnarly single track. I was concentrating on being smooth, in control, and keeping Paul in sight and did not realize that he caused me to be launched off a hillock and I flew over a double row of fence topped with razor wire.
After a smooth landing and a flamboyant skid of my rear tire in a semi-circle, I asked Paul ‘Is this some sort of prison rescue?’
‘Of sorts, you’ll see.’
We hid our cycles in some brush and made our way to a bunker-like structure. Paul removed a 1998 R5000 medal from his cloak and pressed it against the solid iron double doors. I heard a muffled ‘click’ and we entered the sanctum. Paul quickly started off down the passage, checking the labels on the many doors.
‘I used to be the janitor here and quit because I could not stomach what they do to the gnomes. You see, this is a gnome collider where mysterious experiments take place. The gnomes come in but they never leave.’
I puzzled over this statement until Paul found the door he was looking for and we entered to find row upon row of gnomes stacked into pyramids neatly arranged on moveable library stacks.
‘These gnome pyramids are randodecahedrons. They are a principle ingredient for the creation of a thin wall, low trail frame that planes. See how they are never still, always oscillating? This is powerful stuff.’
Paul handed me a musette and started stuffing randodecahedrons into it. The sack never grew in weight but became increasingly restless with the contents. Soon he was satisfied with how many randodecahedrons we had (all of them) and we departed the gnome collider, returning to our stashed cycles.
We froze in the glare of search lights and a figure wearing blousy knickers and a blue sweater with white letters stepped into view. ‘Unhand my gnome stacks!’ Cried the stranger in a heavy teutonic accent. ‘I need those to make Charly Miller Society! Stop!’
‘Gnomes? We don’t have any gnomes, but we do have a nice quantity of elves in this musette.’ Paul stood his ground and looked beyond the one who confronted us and asked ‘Hey, Lyli! Lyli Herse what are you doing here?’
The blue sweatered one looked over his shoulder and that was all we needed.
‘Sucker!’ Paul shouted as we rode off and we made our escape complete.
Once we made the paved lane again and switched on our lights, Paul explained ‘You’ll need these randodecahedrons to steal your victory later today, so you better get some sleep and when you return to your dreams we will get you in the race’.
So continued my
dream quest of the unknown meeting.