Dog bites man

Today was a mostly great day. We did the second of our back-to-back centuries and I felt great. For the first time on the ride, nothing was hurting. I still felt happy to be in Minnesota, and didn't mind that the ride started with a nasty climb out of Mankato. I feared that it would hurt my recently aching knee, but I just got into the granny gear, stood up, and climbed the short hill, feeling superior to my fellow riders who were either walking their bikes up the hill or complaining loudly about hills reminiscent of Vermont. (I have no experience here, but I think the Vermont hills are bigger. I guess we'll find out soon enough.)

My spirits could not be dampened by a flat tire; I was able to reinflate the leaking tire a couple of times using Paul's CO2 canister and limp into the first SAG stop and change the tire. It was hot (although nothing like SD), so I stopped for a drink at mile 50 and ended up joining a bunch of fellow cyclists for lunch at McD's. I'm embarassed to say that it tasted great, especially the three large drinks. Refueled, I zipped past many of my colleagues until I found someone going at a comfortable pace and we chatted happily until we passed a farm with an unruly golden lab. The dog reminded me of the friendly giant who lives next door in Arlington. I wasn't worried. Then chomp. What the heck was that? The dog left a 1/2 inch wide puncture wound. I turned around and told the boy who now was holding the dog that his dog had bitten me, that he had to keep the dog leashed because other cyclists were coming, and, by the way, are his rabies shots up to date. The boy was very apologetic and promised that the shots were up to date, all while his father pretended to be invisible 100 feet behind. I rinsed the wound with water, swallowed a couple of tylenol, and rode to the next SAG stop, which was only a mile or two down the road. There I cleaned the wound and dressed it, and learned that the dog had bitten another rider earlier, although had not broken the skin that time. The proprietress of the store where we were stopping called the city manager, who called the police chief. City manager worried that we would think badly of his small town--I promised that I only thought badly of one of its residents. The police officer promised to check on the dog's vaccinations and deal with the owner. No word on the consequences of that.

Having won martyr/celebrity status, I still enjoyed the last 30 miles, despite getting somewhat lost in Rochester. (At last night's rap, we were told that a better way to get to the hotel was to ride along a bike path through the park, but there was no way to explain how to do that. That turned out to be accurate. After terrorizing small children and their mothers when the path dead-ended in a play park, I decided to get back on the street, which worked just fine.)

We've gotten even more media attention. Yesterday, there was a nice front page story in the Worthington Daily Globe. Another rider and I were eating in a little town between Worthington and Mankato and the waitress called the local weekly, which sent a cub reporter to interview us about the ride. And then tonight, Paul was interviewed for the local NBC affiliate's (WTTC) evening news program. He was very upbeat about the whole experience. What a great performer.

The real highlight today was that two friends showed up for dinner, which meant that I skipped the daily buffet and got to talk to someone who wasn't a bicycle freak (not that there's anything wrong with that). Deborah Kobes, former RA extraordinaire for the Tax Policy Center, arrived with four traveling companions just as I rode into the hotel parking lot. They got to see the bloody leg (a huge thrill) and showed me their flash presentation of all the things they had seen in touring the west (by car). Nancy Johnson, our next door neighbor when we lived in Minnesota, arrived some time later in her convertible complaining of the heat. I wasn't too sympathetic. We had very good upscale pizza.

It's lights out so I gotta go.

Len