The Duel
Part One: There Will Be Blood
Clearly, a change of strategy was required.
I've been having excellent rides on the unicycle lately, with the qualifier that these rides always seem to end in a bloody mess. It's a Catch-22, really--once a ride goes past a certain point, I want to do everything I can to save the ride. But my legs are getting increasingly wobbly the longer I go, and that all adds up (usually) to pavement.
The coveted family record, held by Eli 8.0, was 1.5 miles. I knew if I could complete the lap that I had a chance.
I decided at that point, since I was so close to home and was bleeding quite liberally, to just walk back to the house and call it a workout. Which I did, but I got in the car and clocked the exact distance first.
1.52 miles.
Based on the speed I normally ride, that meant that I rode for between 15 and 20 minutes.
"It's a good thing Eli doesn't know what you've done," Gloria said. "If he found out, he'd fake a stomach ache so he could come home and ride."
"Are you kidding me?" I said. "It's not just him. I wish we had a trophy for longest ride so I could take it out of his room and put it in my study." Gloria laughed.
I wasn't kidding. Eli is only 8, but he is already a worthy competitor in some things. Unicycling. Rock climbing. Videogame hockey. So even though I knew he would take back the title the next time he rode, it still felt good.
However, in spite of my success, since I seemed to be losing skin faster than I could regrow it, I bought some high-top basketball socks and some long shorts. Good grief--after making fun of Capri pants my entire life, I'm basically wearing them now. My lower body looks exactly like Turtle's in Entourage.
Part Two: Mano a Mano
Sunday morning, we went to a semiconductor company parking lot who wishes to remain anonymous. The parking lot is gigantic, and we both knew (without saying so) that this was a showdown.
I had to step off twice in the first five minutes, once because Eli stepped off, and once because he rode us into a dead end that I couldn't quite turn out of successfully (he managed just fine, though). That meant he'd been riding longer on a single ride.
We rode. All around the front parking lot, all around the back parking lot, and back past our car. At this point, I knew it was a long, long ride, probably already a record, and I thought if Eli stepped off, I could keep riding for a few more minutes to make up for the distance I was behind.
"Dude, are you tired?" I asked.
"Oh man, AM I!" He said. "I am DYING. My legs are KILLING ME."
"Do you want to just step off, then?" I asked.
"No, I'm fine," he said.
I almost burst out laughing, because he'd been moaning and groaning behind me for at least five minutes, making the sounds of an asthmatic steam engine. I knew he was hurting even more than I was, but he wasn't stepping off until I did.
So we rode.
Two more mini-laps around a section of the front parking lot, and we were both dying. "Ready to step off?" I asked.
"Nope," he said.
"You could just step off at the car, and then I could ride for a few more minutes," I said.
"Not a chance," he said.
A few minutes later, as I knew our legs were about to explode and I didn't want this epic moment to end badly, I conceded. "I'll step off with you at the car," I said. "We'll stop together."
"YES!" he said.
We rode to the car. We stepped off. No blood.
I have a phrase that I like to say to him when I'm tired. "My bacon is achin'," I'll say.
"My bacon is achin'," he said, "and my bacon is EVERYTHING."
The distance: for Eli 8.0, 2.32 miles. For me, 1.82 miles. His ride was 25+ minutes.
So we both set personal records, but he took back the title. He deserves it. I'm very, very proud of him.
But I'm going to get it back.
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