I'm riding with a group of cyclists down a city street—the extra wide two-lane kind, shaded by a canopy of trees and the curbs lined solid with parked cars and trucks. Traffic is light, the temperature is perfect, and the pavement is dappled with little dancing flecks of sunlight that have trickled past the leaves.
Suddenly, pulling up beside me on my left is a woman who introduces herself as Jennn. I have no idea how I know that she spells it with three ens, but she does.
"Why isn't it pronounced 'Jen-n-n'?" I ask. "Then your name would be like a sound effect from The Bionic Woman."
"Because it's just not," she says, rolling her eyes. "The second and third ens are silent."
She's not riding a bike. Instead she's reclining in an medical examination chair with her feet out front in the stirrups. She's wearing a hospital gown that comes down to her knees, and her legs are covered by a layer of tightly-stretched, semi-opaque plastic wrap that I conclude must be meant to be a fairing.
"Do you guys mind if I ride with you?" she asks.
"No way, eh," the ride leader says. "You'll never keep up on that thing."
"But I am keeping up," Jennn says.
"Well, it's not a proper bike, is it?" the ride leader counters.
The debate is abruptly ended as most of the pack turn right on a side street, leaving Jennn and I to continue toward a city park that's visible a couple hundred yards ahead.
"Race you," Jennn says.
I notice that I'm not riding a bike (was I before?); instead, I'm belly down on a hospital gurney in my lycra, craning my neck at an unnatural angle to see the road ahead. As Jennn picks up her pace, I begin vigorously shoving the gurney forward beneath me, then pulling it back—like pro cycling sprinters do at the finish line—trying to squeeze out some additional speed. Somehow, I manage to match Jennn's pace, and as we arrive at the park she splits off, saying she has an appointment she forgot about.
I have no idea what that was all about, but it was good for a chuckle on the way to shower and dress for work.Suddenly, pulling up beside me on my left is a woman who introduces herself as Jennn. I have no idea how I know that she spells it with three ens, but she does.
"Why isn't it pronounced 'Jen-n-n'?" I ask. "Then your name would be like a sound effect from The Bionic Woman."
"Because it's just not," she says, rolling her eyes. "The second and third ens are silent."
She's not riding a bike. Instead she's reclining in an medical examination chair with her feet out front in the stirrups. She's wearing a hospital gown that comes down to her knees, and her legs are covered by a layer of tightly-stretched, semi-opaque plastic wrap that I conclude must be meant to be a fairing.
"Do you guys mind if I ride with you?" she asks.
"No way, eh," the ride leader says. "You'll never keep up on that thing."
"But I am keeping up," Jennn says.
"Well, it's not a proper bike, is it?" the ride leader counters.
The debate is abruptly ended as most of the pack turn right on a side street, leaving Jennn and I to continue toward a city park that's visible a couple hundred yards ahead.
"Race you," Jennn says.
I notice that I'm not riding a bike (was I before?); instead, I'm belly down on a hospital gurney in my lycra, craning my neck at an unnatural angle to see the road ahead. As Jennn picks up her pace, I begin vigorously shoving the gurney forward beneath me, then pulling it back—like pro cycling sprinters do at the finish line—trying to squeeze out some additional speed. Somehow, I manage to match Jennn's pace, and as we arrive at the park she splits off, saying she has an appointment she forgot about.
I generally try not to waste too much time analysing my infrequent dreams, but I did put a little thought toward this one, while showering. The examination chair is a pretty transparent metaphor for a recumbent, because of the position and the fairing. Why an OBGYN's chair? Maybe it had something to do with the surplus of estrogen floating around the home last evening. Who's Jennn? I have absolutely no idea.
The gurney and my positioning on it may represent my potential for neck injury on a standard road bike, but I'm still wearing my lycra, so that suggests this as merely one of many possible futures.
The dismissiveness of the ride leader toward Jennn and her exam chair are pretty obviously inspired by my ongoing group ride experiences and a recent BikeJournal thread about why recumbents shouldn't be allowed to ride in groups.
Most important, Jennn didn't manage to drop me, and the park was really nice.
8 comments:
Man, you have some detailed dreams Foo!!! In my dreams, I do good if I can remember the girl's name who is dancing by the pole LOL!!!
Do you know my real name?? I didn't think so.
Besides, I prefer my 'wedgie' to sitting in an OB GYN gurney ANYDAY. Coincidently, I also prefer jumping off a tall building to utilizing an OB GYN gurney.
Lance: I mostly don't remember my dreams at all. Every once in a while, I wake up in the middle of one, actually remember it, and it's so bizarre that the details stick.
Emma: Um... I don't know your real name. Why'd you think I call you Emma? Anyway, Jennn was a blonde and didn't look anything like Ally Sheedy. Your superheroine secret identity is safe.
Strange! Are your dreams always so weird?
Susie: What's potassium got to do with anything? And anyway, I eat bananas all the time and drink PowerAde.
Maybe I have too much potassium. Ever think of that?
Allez: You don't know the half of it. At least mine aren't X-rated, like Turtle's...
I'm belly down on a hospital gurney in my lycra
Ho! This is never good. :-)
Was I the one who suggested you share more of your dream experiences here? Cuz I thought about it some more, and, well, maybe you should sell the rights to Dreamworks. There's some good movie material in your wacked dreams ;-).
I think the only market for my dreams would be someone like Tim Burton or Neil Gaiman. Although I'm generally impressed with Gaiman in particular, I think the box office receipts for Mirror Mask proved that there's not a big market for anything as weird as my dreams.
Three Ns?! SOL!
SOL btw, is Snorting out loud. Pass it on. It's the NEW LOL. I'm trying to be a blogger trend setter. ;)
I love how she was riding on a hospital gurney. I mean... I can usually blame strange dreams on food. But what food would make you dream of hospital equipment? Jello??
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