Wetsuit, check. Goggles, check. Bike pump and toolkit, check. Cycling shoes & helmet, check. Running shoes, check. Shorts and jersey, check. Ready to get up early Saturday morning and hit the road to The Dalles, Oregon. Forgetting the bike, priceless. Oh wait! Bike, check. I loaded my bike and all my gear, filled the truck with gas and was eager to achieve glory and crush the competition. Or at least survive and not make a fool out of myself.
I had even done something I had not done in the past 3-4 triathlons - I trained! For the swim that is. I had sufficiently trained for the run and cycle, but I've always been a good swimmer and the last few years had lapsed into a 'eh, whatever - I can do this" attitude. Which is probably not the optimal training approach. Now, when I say trained it means this - one session in the pool, gasping out about 35 laps. OK, perhaps I could have trained harder - but at least my confidence went up a notch!
Saturday morning: rested and refreshed from a good night's sleep, I got up early and enjoyed a leisurely cup of coffee, and hit the road about 6:00 AM. I was surprised at how much traffic there was on I-5 on a Saturday morning. Well, I had only gotten about 15 miles from home when the truck started acting funny, then missing, then missing worse. I was 99% certain that I had fouled a plug. My options were few - I could try to press on, but then that would inevitably damage the engine. I could pull over and hitchhike, hoping a fellow triathlate going to the race would take pity on me and I could hop a ride. I also could try to make it home (the truck was running very bad and losing power) and go by Landmark Ford, knowing that they had a 24 hour service department and see if they could help.
Limping into the dealership, a service manager came out to meet me. It was now about 7:15 AM. I beseeched him to show mercy on a fellow human, just a 20 minute diagnosis by a tech, pop in a new spark plug and I could make the race on time. If I had had a cracked block (referring to the engine and not my head, to be clear) or manifold my problems would be greater than making the race anyway. "Sorry", he demurred - "I only have one technician working but there will be someone here at 8:00". "Of course," I replied - and then asked again for just a little assistance - help a brother out. "Tell you what", he said "I have another technician coming in at 8:00 and then we'll help you out". "So, just to be crystal clear, you're not going to help me are you before 8:00 AM?" The answer came back again "Someone will be here....". I tuned him out knowing that a tune up was not going to happen. Thanks Landmark Ford!
I made it home, running very rough. The truck wasn't doing well either. protesting too. By this time though the race was pretty much over for me. I had a last minute thought to call my friend Patty, she was heading out to Cycle Oregon llater in the day and I remember her saying that she was going to ride with a friend. I knew (or at least hoped) that perhaps she would loan me her car but even if we could work that out I knew that I would not make it in time.
So, my morning went something like this:
- For want of a spark plug, the truck was lost.
- For want of the truck, the commute was lost.
- For want of the commute, the start was lost.
- For want of the start, the race was lost.
