Jean Claude thought for a while as he watched the lone rider disappear around a curve. He didn't remember seeing a rider that large at any time in the race and, it seemed to him, that he would have remembered someone that big.
"Pierre? I don't remember seeing him among the teams."
"He doesn't race on a team, Campy Girlymann rides for himself."
"He is not in the race?"
"No. Not this race or any race. There is no point, he would win all of them."
"But what if he joined a team, he would be unstoppable."
"He is his own team, Jean Claude."
The Tour settled down to finish the stage, though the lead rider in the yellow jersey was upset knowing that a better rider than him was up ahead. The thought bothered him for he began to put the picture together of Campy Girlymann when he passed like the wind, those thunder thighs, the bodacious butt, a chest that sucked in air like a steam engine. Could a man like that roar pass an entire assembly of professional riders? No, it must have been a trick. A ploy to make Jean Claude feel inferior and he would not let that happen.
"I do not believe in this living legend." Jean Claude remarked to no one in particular.
The other riders said nothing, wondering why Jean Claude had not heard of Campy and his legendary feats. 'Where has Jean Claude been?' they thought and what would their lead rider do if confronted with Campy? Would he finish the race in the lead or tuck his tail between his legs?
The riders picked up speed, the top of the climb was near, there would be a long descent on the other side and a finish at a border town where Jean Claude would be victorious--again. Clenching his hold of the yellow jersey.
At the top waited a crowd to cheer them on, flashing cameras, huddled fans waiting for a glimpse of their team before the decent. Bursts of light hit the lead riders near the top. Jean Claude smiled for his fans and the cameras just before he tucked in for the decent. But just as he leaned over the bars, something caught his eye. On the side, next to a bike was the phantom rider. The yellow locks of blond hair that fell around his shoulders from the sides of his helmet, caught Jean but it was the legs, tree trunks of corded muscle that Jean remembered most when Girlymann left him in the dust.
In a fit, Jean Claude flipped Campy the bird. Girlymann snapped a photo of Jean Claude just as he gave him the one finger salute. Campy's lips curled in a surly smile. He put his camera back in his pocket and watched the riders as they came to the peak and the relief of the decent to the finish in the distance.
When the last rider crested the top, Campy Girlymann mounted his bike and followed the riders at break-neck speed, catching up to the last rider. He tapped the rider's shoulder, a small young guy from a Belgium team.
"How would you like to win the stage?" asked Campy.
"I'm a domestic Campy, I could never win this stage or any other."
"Get on my wheel boy, and hang on like your ass depended on it. I'm going to make you famous."
With that Campy Girlyman shifted gears and felt the wind streak pass him and the Belgium rider tucked in back of his rear wheel.
To be continued....
Stories from living in Los Angeles
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann
The climb was a category five. Miles long that wound its way up the French Alps. The Tour de France riders were pacing themselves, knowing that the steepest section of the climb was yet to come and keeping a watchful eye for a break away. The top rider from a French team was in the lead. France was ecstatic to finally have a French team in the lead. Jean Claude, had his teammates surround him, making sure that he would keep the lead without being attack and rode with the help of domestics to give him water and prevent the wind from draining his energy.
Jean Claude talked with the team's captain, there didn't appear to be anyone willing to challenge him yet. For the most part, the rest of the pack was holding on, waiting for a mistake, or lucky break to take advantage of the lead rider. He felt confident that the stage would be in his pocket and smiled.
Up ahead, dark clouds covered the mountain peak and a roll of thunder shook the ground beneath the riders, or was it? Jean Claude listened for the rumble again, only this time it seemed it was coming from behind and gaining fast.
"Pierre?"
"Yes Jean,"
"Is there a thunder storm behind us?"
"I only see clouds in the distance, up ahead."
"Then what could be that great noise?"
"I don't know, but something big is headed this way."
Jean Claude looked behind him, he could see riders at the back of the pack splitting as if the road itself had cracked wide down the middle. There was the sound of a train, of metal being tested to its utmost, there was sweat flying and a low groan that went like a wave over the riders.
As Jean Claude looked, his mouth dropped opened while a large rider peddled up to him, winked and rode on. Jean Claude began to follow but soon realized he would never catch this phantom rider.
"Who was that?" He asked around at the riders near him.
"The legend lives on," one rider said with a smile.
"It's Campy Girlymann, a legend in his own time." Pierre said and crossed himself, kissing his fingers when he finished.
to be continued...
Jean Claude talked with the team's captain, there didn't appear to be anyone willing to challenge him yet. For the most part, the rest of the pack was holding on, waiting for a mistake, or lucky break to take advantage of the lead rider. He felt confident that the stage would be in his pocket and smiled.
Up ahead, dark clouds covered the mountain peak and a roll of thunder shook the ground beneath the riders, or was it? Jean Claude listened for the rumble again, only this time it seemed it was coming from behind and gaining fast.
"Pierre?"
"Yes Jean,"
"Is there a thunder storm behind us?"
"I only see clouds in the distance, up ahead."
"Then what could be that great noise?"
"I don't know, but something big is headed this way."
Jean Claude looked behind him, he could see riders at the back of the pack splitting as if the road itself had cracked wide down the middle. There was the sound of a train, of metal being tested to its utmost, there was sweat flying and a low groan that went like a wave over the riders.
As Jean Claude looked, his mouth dropped opened while a large rider peddled up to him, winked and rode on. Jean Claude began to follow but soon realized he would never catch this phantom rider.
"Who was that?" He asked around at the riders near him.
"The legend lives on," one rider said with a smile.
"It's Campy Girlymann, a legend in his own time." Pierre said and crossed himself, kissing his fingers when he finished.
to be continued...
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The Anal Retentive Next Door
The owner of the property next to us is fixing up his place to rent. He inherited the house from his grandmother after his uncle died that lived there all his life. The anal retentive is a retired engineer and all he has to occcupy himself with is fussing over his new property. How anal retentive is he?
He had the house painted to blend with ours and the one on the other side of him. The color was one of the generic browns to match the tan of ours and the beige of the other. We were tired of browns and tans and just after that, we had our house painted yellow with green and white trim. We didn't even think about color coordination with the rest of the hood, just to make ours look good and a bit different. He was upset that we didn't use a brown to match all the other browns. Then he had a cement slab poured for a patio in the back of his property, a fence put up but not on our shared side. I had agreed to go in half but he decided not to at this time. He hates the bamboo. So do I, and wanted to remove it all but can't until the fence comes down so the gardener can dig the bamboo out that is along the fence.
Right now he is cutting the bamboo on his side. Of course it is leaving gapping holes between the property so that there is a big loss of privacy. But that doesn't bother Anal Retentive, he doesn't live here and so far, no one has rented his place. What's funny is that he complained about the people who put up the fence. They used green wood according to him, because now the wood has shrunk and has left a small gap between the boards. If you get your face right up to it and look, you can see inside. So why cut the bamboo so severly? You sure don't need to get up to the bamboo to see inside, you can sit in the patio and do that.
He's pissed at the people who poured the cement. There is a small hairline crack now. He's pissed at the people who put the sod down and the seed. He's pissed at anything anybody does that he didn't do for one reason or another cause he is anal retentive. I don't think he can pass a watermelon seed his asshole is so tight.
He had the house painted to blend with ours and the one on the other side of him. The color was one of the generic browns to match the tan of ours and the beige of the other. We were tired of browns and tans and just after that, we had our house painted yellow with green and white trim. We didn't even think about color coordination with the rest of the hood, just to make ours look good and a bit different. He was upset that we didn't use a brown to match all the other browns. Then he had a cement slab poured for a patio in the back of his property, a fence put up but not on our shared side. I had agreed to go in half but he decided not to at this time. He hates the bamboo. So do I, and wanted to remove it all but can't until the fence comes down so the gardener can dig the bamboo out that is along the fence.
Right now he is cutting the bamboo on his side. Of course it is leaving gapping holes between the property so that there is a big loss of privacy. But that doesn't bother Anal Retentive, he doesn't live here and so far, no one has rented his place. What's funny is that he complained about the people who put up the fence. They used green wood according to him, because now the wood has shrunk and has left a small gap between the boards. If you get your face right up to it and look, you can see inside. So why cut the bamboo so severly? You sure don't need to get up to the bamboo to see inside, you can sit in the patio and do that.
He's pissed at the people who poured the cement. There is a small hairline crack now. He's pissed at the people who put the sod down and the seed. He's pissed at anything anybody does that he didn't do for one reason or another cause he is anal retentive. I don't think he can pass a watermelon seed his asshole is so tight.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Warrior Priestess
The Lady of the Forest is a warrior priestess. I'm not sure what branch of the service she is in but when she serves it is in the Middle East. She doesen't have a husband, boyfriends she does have and she has a cute baby girl. I don't see her for months at a time and her mother looks a lot like her, blond, older but that same unhappy smile. An almost forced smile while she looks in the distance as if things are better somewhere else but not here.
She is leaving in July for an apartment in Portland. She gave us a bag and a half of briquettes, two planters and a barbecue cage for grilling fish. She said one of the trees is tilting after Village Idiot cut off some of the major limbs that hung over on his side of the property. That's Village Idiot for you, never thinking what his actions will cause and of course, Lady of the Forest draws her energy from the trees. That's why she now needs to move to Portland where there are a lot of trees. She needs their energy because of her job as a warrior priestess.
She is home from the war but knows that someday soon she will have to return to the killing fields and watch as death descends on innocent children and their families. That's why it is so important for her to have the energy the trees give her. To maintain the balance she needs to be sane until she can come home and end her involvement with us, as a nation, at war and we are always at war with someone.
She is leaving in July for an apartment in Portland. She gave us a bag and a half of briquettes, two planters and a barbecue cage for grilling fish. She said one of the trees is tilting after Village Idiot cut off some of the major limbs that hung over on his side of the property. That's Village Idiot for you, never thinking what his actions will cause and of course, Lady of the Forest draws her energy from the trees. That's why she now needs to move to Portland where there are a lot of trees. She needs their energy because of her job as a warrior priestess.
She is home from the war but knows that someday soon she will have to return to the killing fields and watch as death descends on innocent children and their families. That's why it is so important for her to have the energy the trees give her. To maintain the balance she needs to be sane until she can come home and end her involvement with us, as a nation, at war and we are always at war with someone.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Lady Of The Forest
She came over the other day with gifts, a bag and a half of briquettes, a screen to grill fish with and some wall planters. She doesn't need them she said, she has to move in July to Portland Oregon in an apartment.
"Besides," she said, as if to make the move more acceptable, "One of the trees is leaning and I think it is going to fall."
She is always a bit sad even when she is smiling. I feel that there is a great deal of sadness in her. A deep ache that she has all the time. So much sadness in the world and the Lady of the Forest seems to draw it into her. As if she was a magnet for the ills of everything around her.
I wonder who will move in to take her place?
"Besides," she said, as if to make the move more acceptable, "One of the trees is leaning and I think it is going to fall."
She is always a bit sad even when she is smiling. I feel that there is a great deal of sadness in her. A deep ache that she has all the time. So much sadness in the world and the Lady of the Forest seems to draw it into her. As if she was a magnet for the ills of everything around her.
I wonder who will move in to take her place?
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Birthers Change to Deathers.
It's official. If you were or thinking of being a Birther, it is now called Deather. President Obama's birth is no longer of importance. What is important is that he hasn't put the head of Bin Laden on a stake pounded in the ground of the White House Lawn.
Even Republican candidates now want to see evidence, gruesome photos, of his killing. It would help, they said, if the President with the First Lady and their two children, drag the body out and place it on a stake on the White House lawn. Maybe near the fountain would be nice. If not the body than the head and if not the head, six by ten photos in vivid color but that might not be enough, unless some sort of clothing, hair, video game could establish that the photo was indeed Bin Laden.
It's truly admiral of the Republican party to demand these simple tests of proof that our country did rid us of the worse murderer on the planet. And it makes their pleas understandable to bust unions, change Medicare into a voucher good to hang on your wall which value would be worth the paper it's printed on. Reduce Social Security to a comfy blankie and toaster oven on retirement. Make abortion once again a crime only poor women would have to endure and war with anyone not willing to do the Christian thing. Like barring homos to marry or in any way be treated equally. Which means we soon would be at war with Canada and any other progressive country. You have to admire these people, really, after putting us in debt with two wars that can't be won and a reduction in income tax for the wealthy while at war. What their ultimate goal is to have us return to a feudal society. Back when life was good. If you're a Koch.
God I love them.
Even Republican candidates now want to see evidence, gruesome photos, of his killing. It would help, they said, if the President with the First Lady and their two children, drag the body out and place it on a stake on the White House lawn. Maybe near the fountain would be nice. If not the body than the head and if not the head, six by ten photos in vivid color but that might not be enough, unless some sort of clothing, hair, video game could establish that the photo was indeed Bin Laden.
It's truly admiral of the Republican party to demand these simple tests of proof that our country did rid us of the worse murderer on the planet. And it makes their pleas understandable to bust unions, change Medicare into a voucher good to hang on your wall which value would be worth the paper it's printed on. Reduce Social Security to a comfy blankie and toaster oven on retirement. Make abortion once again a crime only poor women would have to endure and war with anyone not willing to do the Christian thing. Like barring homos to marry or in any way be treated equally. Which means we soon would be at war with Canada and any other progressive country. You have to admire these people, really, after putting us in debt with two wars that can't be won and a reduction in income tax for the wealthy while at war. What their ultimate goal is to have us return to a feudal society. Back when life was good. If you're a Koch.
God I love them.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Osama Bin Laden Is Alive
I'm afraid it's true, the United States has made a grave error in not preserving the body, because I not only know he is alive I saw him. Now, hold on--hold on. It was him, and he isn't in Pakistan or any stan, he was at the ninety-nine cent store in Reseda.
Okay, you're saying, another conspirator blog. No, it is not and I have proof. He was buying soap, matches, and deodorant. All the things needed to make a deadly bomb. He had the Bin Laden beard, the Bin Laden, sickly yellow look, the Bin laden in fashion. In fact, I think he must have just come off the boat from the Middle East for the look of clothes. Filthy.
He was cagey too. But he couldn't deceive me. Shit, no, I took a mail order course from the University of Arizona on Terrorism and he fit everything there was about terrorist except I didn't hear him speak Spanish. He mumbled though, and that is sure proof and he was a rag-head. I think it was rags, no I'm sure of it, because I don't think lice can get that thick in unkempt hair.
Now the question is, should I inform the CIA or would they dump me into the brink as well? I'm not sure anymore, ever since our President can't prove beyond a reason of doubt that he was born in Hawaii and what's more, why is Hawaii a state? I thought it was an island like Alaska. At least that's what Glen Beck had on his, History Restored classes on Fox.
Okay, you're saying, another conspirator blog. No, it is not and I have proof. He was buying soap, matches, and deodorant. All the things needed to make a deadly bomb. He had the Bin Laden beard, the Bin Laden, sickly yellow look, the Bin laden in fashion. In fact, I think he must have just come off the boat from the Middle East for the look of clothes. Filthy.
He was cagey too. But he couldn't deceive me. Shit, no, I took a mail order course from the University of Arizona on Terrorism and he fit everything there was about terrorist except I didn't hear him speak Spanish. He mumbled though, and that is sure proof and he was a rag-head. I think it was rags, no I'm sure of it, because I don't think lice can get that thick in unkempt hair.
Now the question is, should I inform the CIA or would they dump me into the brink as well? I'm not sure anymore, ever since our President can't prove beyond a reason of doubt that he was born in Hawaii and what's more, why is Hawaii a state? I thought it was an island like Alaska. At least that's what Glen Beck had on his, History Restored classes on Fox.
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