Rushing to pack my now empty musette I had an epiphany.
I am just a regular guy that likes to ride bikes!
What do I care about gnomes, unknown meetings (sounds kinda creepy, actually) and effortlessly stealing victories. I am going to wake up and call the RUSA Police and let them take care of things!
I pulled out my little electronic companion that never leaves my grasp and dialed 1-800-IMA-DOUCH and waited for the operator to respond. I explained to the friendly operator the situation and they promptly sent out a few RUSA officers.
The unlikely pair was a couple who went by the name of Bill and Lois. Bill sported a P-12 pin on his lapel and Lois wore a white wind vest with a red sash with that cute RUSA logo on it.
‘Here, fill out this waiver and we will do the bike check in a minute.’ Bill said as he handed me a clipboard with a piece of paper filled with fine print. I protested I was not a RUSA member but was merely reporting an infraction and Bill responded. ‘Rules are rules, you gotta follow ‘em, and stop giving me a hard time – I am just a volunteer and don’t get paid for my time.’
I filled out the form, reluctantly showed them my reflective gear and then they proceeded to get the facts.
‘You say some guy in a blue sweater with white letters wearing knickers stole all your gnomes? I think we know the guy – he has tried to lay siege to RUSA once or twice, but we have been able to hold him off. With these gnomes he can be a serious threat to the enjoyment of challenging yourself to ride long distances while observing several written and unwritten rules for fun.’
‘Gnomes equal competition and we all know what competition does, it results in adulterated statistics with split infinities, broken links on the RUSA website, and k-hound awards. Serious problems for a volunteer organization to deal with. Why we changed the website from HTML to that flashy broken thing has always troubled me and the stupid thing won’t load on my damn phone.’
Satisfied that I had done my duty I started to leave for the open road already thinking of the stew and house brew at the next quicky mart.
‘Hey! You forgot your helmet – you don’t want a post card and visit from the RUSA Police do you?’
so ends my
dream quest of the unknown meeting.