Bikes Up!

It's April 18^th. Spring in Upstate New York is off to a late start. About 1 month late to be exact. I was just talking to a lady who is in Buffalo and she's watching snow falling outside her office window. Our weather comes from the West, so..... Here, in Sanitaria Springs, it's a cloudy 52 F. and there's an edge to the damp air that makes you think it could snow here tonight. It also makes you think about a lot of things you could be doing inside the toasty house. Or, things you could be doing out in the garage.

Outside, in my garage, awaiting the sun and warm ambient temperatures we're all hoping for, are my 2 Hondas. The CX500 has been out already. Twice. There were a couple of 70ish days at the end of March and beginning of April, and I couldn't wait to shake something down. Probably myself more than the bike. It wasn't much fun on those 65-70 degree days. The air was crisp, like an oddball warm day in Winter. The chilly air stung anything that wasn't well covered. Sure, a wind-breaker was enough to keep me warmish, and gloves were a must. Are anyway, really. Just for protection. My face, however, suffered from the biting 55 mph wind. Well, maybe a bit faster than that, 'cause like the Red Rocker says, “I just can't drive 55.” The same temps, once the weather finally breaks, will be perfect for riding. That's what makes a warmer ambient temp such a desirable thing. The weather really wasn't good enough yet to justify hauling out the big V65 Sabre. “Soon come, mon. Soon come.”

In a very real sense, this day each year is like a holiday. A genuine annual celebration day. It's never the same date every year. Too many variables involved. But there is a day, every year, that my new license plate stickers come from the Utica DMV office. That's where we Southern Tier folks have to send our mail-in renewals.

Naturally, they will get lost if I don't install them on the bikes immediately. That being the case, I grab the Windex and paper towels and head out to the garage to do the joyful deed. Joyful, because it means that there's another Summer of riding approaching, and now I'm ready for it.

First there's the ritual spraying and wiping down of the plates. Pay special attention to the 2011 sticker. It's got to be especially clean, 'cause that's where the new Mylar tag has to be placed. Even though the '11 stickers are starting to lift a bit at the corners, they can't be removed. Well....they could be. I just don't. I like to see how many I can stack up before the state forces me to buy another color plate. That happens every so often, and I've always had every sticker I got during that color series, still on the plate when it gets replaced.

Many old yellow plates, and previously issued white ones, are up on the wall of my garage. Their job is to keep many happy years of biking memories alive. Now and then I'll look at a certain year's plate and go back to that particular Summer in my mind. Bike memories are unlike any others I have. Even the big crash of '73 brings a smile to my face. The story that goes with that is stuff fiction writers can only wish they had to work with. Oh, yeah!

You think stacking stickers is quirky? Let me tell you quirky, buddy. As the accompanying pic shows, I put my registration stickers on upside down. I always have. Why? How the hell do I know. I'm not a shrink. If I was, I wouldn't go there in a million years. My mind is a labyrinth of tunnels that really don't deserve having anyone poking around in. Probably has something to do with being noticed or being different than the other kids. Look it up in your freakin' freak reference books. Save yourself some time and energy, though. Don't write and tell me what you find. I like my annual stickers installed the way I do it, and I'm not going to change a thing.

All these decades of upside down registration stickers have never been mentioned by the cops. With me setting my own speed limits, I can't say they haven't had their opportunities. Now and then a friend or new acquaintance will notice the inverted sticker and mention it. I just smile and tell them I must have been drinkin' when I put them on. It may seem like an indictment of my character, but nobody has ever argued the point.

I look at it this way. If I'm ever upside down in a ditch, the cops will immediately note that my bike is legally registered. They'll know I was a thoughtful rider........ before the crash.

Draw Blood

“It looks like you haven't had blood work since '07, Mr. Winfield. I'm going to order it before your next appointment.” Dr. A. eyed me critically but his soft Middle Eastern accent soothed like honey oozing down a sore throat.

That ominous declaration started a real life sit-com that somehow seems to typify my current life phase. Dr. A. wrote a lab order sheet and handed it to me. I dutifully took it along with my co-pay receipt, prescription for an increase of my main blood pressure medication dosage, and my cell phone. I had obediently turned it off upon entering the exam room. Paraphernalia in hand, I trudged to the receptionist to 'check out'. I grinned inwardly at the irony of having a desk marked “Check Out” right outside a Cardiologist's door. You need an appointment for that too, these days?

I made a follow-up appointment, allowed appointments to be made for me at an Osteopath and a Dietitian. Knees are going and I've just learned I'm too fat. This getting old means there's a lot of appointments to keep. Apparently it's time to pay the piper for dancing with wild abandon, nearly non-stop for over half a century. They assure me I'll be a better man for it.

Blood work was ordered to check my triglycerides. Surely a fictitious concern. I'm supposed to go the next morning but when it arrived I realized I'd forgotten to fast. Ha! I got to stay home. I was probably subconsciously screening my true feelings. I didn't want to go to a vampire in Johnson City at 6:30 AM, anyway. Fasting is hard when you're used to eating the best things in life every waking hour of every day. You don't want to know what my typical diet consists of. Let me just say that it's every kid's dream to eat what I eat in the frequency and quantity I eat it in. Dr. A says I need to stop eating like a kid and eat like an adult. I'll have to find more adults to observe. I still use the old knife, fork, and spoon method my mother taught me. I conveniently forgot about the blood work.

Life goes on and after awhile I visit the Osteopath. He's in the same building as my cardio guy and that reminds me that I've yet to get the blood siphoned off. A month has passed and I still haven't found the lab paperwork, so I see Dr. A's receptionist. She calls downstairs for my chart and....SURPRISE! The original lab order is still in my chart! Unbelievable. I've looked everywhere and then looked everywhere else, repeatedly. I think the receptionist put it back in the chart just to goof on me. Make me think my marbles are untethered, or something. Well, the joke's on her. I didn't misplace it after all, and I'm not telling Dr. A. his receptionist is responsible for raising my blood pressure. He might think she's too hot for his patients to handle.

Between searches for my bloodwork order, I managed to make it to the Dietitian. She laughed and joked, talked about Jimmy Buffett and Parrot Heads. Her brother is one. I didn't judge. I left her my card. In the end I left her with an 1800 calorie diet that sneaky old Dr, A. told her to give me, and many more tips on cutting salt out of my life than I'll ever remember or wish to use. So he wants me to lose weight, eh? Guess he didn't have the stones to tell me I'm fat to my chubby little face. He doesn't know how easy going I really am.

The big evening arrives! NPO after 6 P. That means not to stick anything but a toothbrush in my mouth from dinner until after the next morning bloodletting. I told my wife to tackle me if I headed toward the kitchen or one of the several stashes of Reese's Big Cups, Mason Mints, Gertie Hawk's Smidgens, or the tray of huge muffins I picked up at Sam's Club. She told me I'm on my own. I have never been able to rely on my will power before, so why would she think I could this time? After all these years you'd think she'd know me better!

Made it. I awoke at 5:00 AM, famished. It took at least 10 seconds to realize why I felt so weak and puny. Some diminutive Pakistani was starving me, and probably laughing all the way to the bank.

Stumbling downstairs, I made a pot of coffee. No need for my wife to suffer because of my life of debauchery and disrespect for the temple that is my body. A glance in the mirror shows the temple has become more of a ragged old tent. With a monumental display of strength, I managed to avoid stuffing my face with any of the numerous available goodies. By 6:00 AM I've ultimately lurched my way to Johnson City.

The Lab Tech doesn't look reliable at this hour. She smells of sex and stale booze and has obviously missed her third cup of coffee. I probably look as hazy to her gaze as she does to mine. She rallied rather well, though. After excusing herself for a few minutes to compose herself, she returns to the lab smelling of Febreze and Altoids. She's ready to look at my paperwork. “Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Winfield,” she groaned, staring at my lab slip in disbelief. “It doesn't say what work he wants done, and Dr. A. hasn't signed it.”

“You mean I starved myself for days, left my warm bed in the middle of the night, dragged my dog out of the house to keep me company, and the sheet is blank?”

“Well, not blank,” she mumbled. “They put your file information sticker on the top,”

“I feel bad I bothered you with this sorry lack of preparation,” I purred convincingly. “I hope someone else shows up for blood work this morning so you won't be sitting here all alone.”

“I'll tell you what,” she said. “You came such a long way, and after all that starvation and trouble, I'll just take it. I'll draw the usual amount and if I don't get enough or they want something weird, I'll just call you back in.”

“Oh. You can do that?” I asked with surprised innocence. “I don't want you to get in any trouble.”

That sealed it. Hell and high water couldn't have kept that girl from draining my vein at that moment. She'd show them all how resourceful and responsible she is, and they'd be damned proud to have her. It wouldn't hurt that now I probably wouldn't mention her sad condition to her supervisor, either.

Minutes later I was tempting death on the J. C. Circle, heading back to Sanitaria Springs for a cup of fresh ground Kona coffee. Almost three years in the making, and involving a string of comedic errors rivaling a“Seinfeld” episode, it was over. Now I had only to wait for the news, good or bad.

When the results came back, I had the last laugh. Yes, I'm 35 pounds overweight. Sure, my knees need chemicals to keep the bones from rubbing together. But! Here's the rub........perfect cholesterol numbers, and my triglycerides are great. I can eat all the junk I want. Plus, I hear the lab tech has decided to start getting some rest and a shower before her early morning blood lettings.