I had a dream that Lance Armstrong stood at my kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal with Terry and my brother, Pete. I never bothered to ask what Lance was doing there. Matter of fact I never bothered to ask what Pete, who recently moved to Las Vegas, was doing there either. Just chalk it up to dream magic, okay?
Pete was talking to Lance about something or other. My brother can talk to anyone about anything. I, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves to meet Lance Armstrong. Darn, even in my dreams I can’t play it cool.
Terry left on a bike ride with a friend. Pete went into the guest room to change into cycling clothes, leaving me alone to make small talk with Lance. I was already suited up in a Fat Cyclist jersey and bike shorts. The bike shorts were black with orange and pink plaid running down the sides. I don’t own a pair of bike shorts like that in real life, but if I did I would totally wear them, like all of the time. Even when not on a bike because they were that awesome. But back to small talk with Lance.
“Sexy.” said Lance, his voice laden with sarcasm.
“Spandex are always sexy.” I replied. This axiom is always true, even in dreams.
“Uh, your jersey is on inside out.” Lance pointed. See previous reference to my inability to be cool even in my dreams.
I quickly pulled my jersey off and yanked it back on the right way, which I would never do in front of anyone in real life, let alone Lance Armstrong. The flesh on my stomach hasn’t seen the light of day in years and is blindingly white. Not to mention the fact that it’s a bit squidgy. Apparently my dream self has no shame.
“So where are you riding today?” Lance asked, kindly ignoring my stomach.
“Up to Shasta Dam. Where are you riding today?”
“To Mt. Shasta and back. Is that close to Shasta Dam?”
“Not at all.”
“But you’ll have a great view of Lake Shasta as you ride. Although I think it’s snowing in Mt. Shasta. You should eat something warm at Mike and Tony’s before you turn back around to Redding. Are you allowed to eat regular food or are you on a specialized diet right now?”
“I can eat regular food sometimes.” I gave Lance a sympathy pat on the back because that is a sad, sad statement.
Then Pete and I left Lance in the kitchen and rode up to the Dam and back. It was a great ride and afterward, I popped into school to do a couple of things in the office. And that’s when I got the call from Lance that he needed a rescue pick up. I don’t know how he tracked me down at school. Dream magic strikes again.
“My sprocket snapped and I was wondering if you could pick me up?” Lance asked.
“Sure. Where are you?”
“Let’s see, I’m about 60 miles in.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a little while.”
“Are you sure? It’s a long way to drive.”
“It’s no problem. I didn’t have anything else going on today.” Seriously, I have got to teach my dream self how to sound a little less pathetic. “Hole up somewhere warm and I’ll be there in about an hour.”
I zipped home and threw my bike rack on the back of my car. Just as I was getting ready to leave, Terry’s friend rode up and told me that Terry also needed a rescue pick up.
I had to choose between my husband and my new best friend, Lance Armstrong.
Who would I rescue first?
And then my dream self did me proud.
“Okay, I’ll swing by and get Terry and then I’ll get Lance.” I assured Terry’s friend. As I was dialing Terry to get his exact location, Lance showed up at my house. Even in my dream I was baffled by how he got there and how he got there so quickly. The dream magic was starting to wear thin.
“I hitched a ride back to Redding.” Lance said, hopping in the car. “But I had to leave my bike hidden in a bush. Would you mind driving me to pick it up?”
“No problem. We just have to swing by and grab Terry first.”
“I really need to get my bike fixed before tomorrow, but the bike shops will probably be closed by the time we get back.”
“Don’t worry, Lance. I’ll call the mechanic at the bike shop. I’m sure he’ll open up.”
“You mean he’ll open up for me?”
“No, I mean he’ll open up for me.” Finally, my dream self found a smidge of cool.
I woke up with a big smile on my face. I so wished my dream was real.
Yes, hanging with Lance Armstrong would be awesome, but that’s actually not the part I of my dream I wished would come true.
As my dream faded away and I listened to the rain patter on the roof, I wished that my brother hadn’t moved to Las Vegas.
I wish that he still lived here so we could ride our bikes together up to Shasta Dam.