The title of this post comes from a Weezer song which has very little to do with sweaters. The post itself has very little to do with Weezer. So there’s that.
Yesterday I lost my wool sweater. It fell out of my bags about 10 miles short of camp just over the California border. When I realized it was missing, I went through the seven stages of grief, sliding into acceptance. So be it. The bike tour gods willed it so.
Then something remarkable happened.
A guy from Utah piped up… “Hey, what color is it? I think I saw it.”
“Yeah, that was it – it’s by the lilly farm about 10 miles back.”
“Ahhh, yeah.” Acceptance stage was already cooling. “Well, losing things happens on tour. It is what it is,” I said with a casually dismissive tone.
“Oh, I’ll go get it.”
“I’ll go get it.., it was only about 10 or 15 miles back!”
After several minutes of profusely thanking him for his (batshit crazy) notion, I thought all was settled that he would not go bike 90 minutes and 20 miles to rescue a sweater for a guy he hardly knew.
About 87 minutes later, the group du jour sitting around the fire were enjoying a beer when someone asked where the guy from Utah went.
“No. No, he did not.”
“Didn’t do what?”
I explained the sweater rescue plan that was scuttled – or so I thought.
On cue, in the finest tradition of stage and screen, my sweater rolled into camp securely bungeed to the rear rack of a very, very crazy dude’s bike.
So, next time someone asks why I like bike touring, I’ll show them my sweater. Because there’s no way I can in good conscience lose it again…