Celebrity and Infamy

The fates were kind to us all on Saturday: Sunny, in the 70s, dry roads and accommodating motorists. But for me, it was no picnic. What seemed like a gorgeous day was the breathing equivalent to slogging through knee deep mud. The air was thick with moisture, which makes darting up ahead and staying there a near Herculean task.

But I had my inhaler, something that I carried more as a lark than a precaution until recently, and I had to use the thing twice on Saturday.

I should mention at this point that it probably wasn’t the best idea to have the guys over for poker and then proceed to empty a good portion of my wallet into theirs over the course of the evening. And the evening stretched into the wee small hours. So, a 50-miler and four hours of sleep, I have tested it and can confirm that it is quite a bad idea.

Playing poker with me is, on the contrary, apparently is a very good one: you get fed with some of my concoctions (paella has been known to be served, for example), and you get to help me remove all those burdensome money weighing down my wallet.

Friday’s menu included the following: a chorizo and shrimp quesadilla served with a chili-onion-cilantro reduction relish.

Here’s what you do: chop up one or two chorizo. Make sure it’s good sausage, dry, made in Spain, small and dense. Sautee with the onions and chilis (just get one of those small cans of the chopped variety and dump it in the pan).

When the onions are soft and translucent, throw the shrimp in. I used thawed deveined and pre-cooked shrimp that you would use for a cocktail, removing the tail and stirring in the shrimp with the heat turned off to get the chorizo flavor mixed in. Then a few splashes of white (I used Ecco Domani pinot grigio) and turn the heat back on to cook down the wine. Somewhere in here, throw in some chopped fresh cilantro.

A variation would be to marinate overnight fresh shrimp in onions and cilantro (don’t use the marinade to cook), then cook the shrimp as above. Obviously you would not need to do the reduction, but you would need to cook them.

Ok, now get one of those big burrito tortilla and place it on a baking tray. Then put a generous layer or gruyere and sharp cheddar on half of the tortilla, then cover the cheese with some of the contents of the pan. Fold the tortilla in half, and tuck it in the oven for about 10 minutes, flipping it over at the halfway point, and there you go.

But let’s get back to Saturday for a bit – so I had a few problems - small stuff, like breathing. But I made it to the end in one piece.

On the way, I came across a pack of bikers, and one of them inexplicably had only one of those dinky caps with the flipped up rim to protect the contents of his memory, personality and ability to breathe – I mean his brain. But as he had no helmet on as he wizzed along the side of a road where half-ton cars passed by within a few feet of him, clearly he wasn’t using much of the grey matter than G-d gave him.

So here’s where I got on my soapbox. You see, I have a cousin who, when he was 11 or so, got hit by a car. He was in a coma for months, and when he came out, he spoke differently, his taste in food changed, his allergies too.

Now he goes around to schools and tells people his story and to wear helmets. He got written up in the New York Times recently for his work. He is one of my heroes.

This is a challenge for him as his short-term memory spans a few minutes and he can’t see much bigger than the size of a quarter. No, he didn’t have a helmet on when he was struck.

These last two points are what I relayed to the capped rider when I got next to him on the road. As I pulled away, I must have zigged a little bit and he criticized my riding. “Ride Better, Ride Better!” He shouted at my back. The man doesn’t have the sense to protect his head and he’s giving me advice?

When I told this story to others, some thought that he might have been the president of some local cycling club. If he was, he wasn’t setting a great example for his group. People: Wear your helmet or stay home.

I wasn't the only one preaching smart cycling, however. About halfway into the ride, Dwight pulled us aside and gave us a rap on the knuckles. Apparently it's a big no-no to ride side by side in Nevada and we aren't calling out when passing people.

I thought that Dwight was aiming the latter critique directly at me - which I am guilty of, but I am taking classes and going to a support group now. And, of course less than five minutes later folks were riding once again two-by-two. Later, at the Lemon Lounge, every one at the table confessed that they thought that Dwight was referring specifically to them alone. What can I say, I dine with a nefarious, yet guilt-laden, bunch.

Some time later, I rode with Nancy for a bit. Not knowing who I was, she asked me for directions. “Are you sure you want to ask me for directions?” When she realized that I was “that” Eric (the Lemon Lounge crew would call me the Evil Eric for being a general nuisance to our coaching staff), I soon didn’t see her following me. A prudent move, to be sure.

But I did manage to get to the end of the ride, and not straying one inch from the course proscribed on our cue sheet. I guess I took my BDMS medication that day.

Over lunch (the crowd included the stooges, a stooge's Dad, GPS Eric and Sonia), the “good” Eric told me how much his wife enjoyed my little story about riding in the rain. He had this look on his face that said “Yeah, thanks a lot, buddy, give her more ammunition.” Well, hey, nobody’s perfect.

If you haven't yet, get over to my fund raising site (there's a link to the right) and shell out a few bucks for a good cause.