I offer this:

August ‘Forty-Nine, north Montana
The hottest day on record, the forest tinder dry
Lightning strikes in the mountains
I was crew chief at the jump base, I prepared the boys to fly
Pick the drop zone, C-47 comes in low
Feel the tap upon your leg that tells you go
See the circle of the fire down below
Fifteen of us dropped above the cold Missouri waters

Gauged the fire, I’d seen bigger
So I ordered them to sidehill and we’d fight it from below
We’d have our backs to the river
We’d have it licked by morning even if we took it slow
But the fire crowned, jumped the valley just ahead
There was no way down, headed for the ridge instead
Too big to fight it, we’d have to fight that slope instead
Flames one step behind above the cold Missouri waters

Sky had turned red, smoke was boiling
Two hundred yards to safety, death was fifty yards behind
I don’t know why I just thought it
I struck a match to waist high grass running out of time
Tried to tell them, Step into this fire I set
We can’t make it, this is the only chance you’ll get
But they cursed me, ran for the rocks above instead
I lay face down and prayed above the cold Missouri waters

And when I rose, like the phoenix
In that world reduced to ashes there were none but two survived
I stayed that night and one day after
Carried bodies to the river, wonder how I stayed alive
Thirteen stations of the cross to mark to their fall
I’ve had my say, I’ll confess to nothing more
I’ll join them now, because they left me long before
Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri waters
Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri shore

James Keelaghan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qomNoN7MCYg

eh..

Yeah.

Well, there ya go.

The (not shown) lack of articular cartilage is actually what’s preventing me from riding. The articular cartilage around the medial condyle” (the outside part of my femur) looks like this:

It’s thought that the hole in the cartilage is catching and rubbing and snagging on the meniscus and causing tears.
The body, it’s a complex machine.

Allow me to give you a synopsis of a conversation from tonight:
Setting the scene, there are seven people sitting around talking when the topic of bikes comes up. I mention that I ride.

Girl 1: “You ride? That’s cool. Do you know John Doe and Jim Smith?”

Me: “Yeah, those guys are faster than I am, but I ride with them on their longer rides. I tend to do endurance riding–100 miles is an average summertime afternoon.”

Girl 1: “Jesus, how long does that take?”

Me: “Depends on where we go, I guess, anywhere between 5 and 7 hours”

Girl 2: “So I heard about this guy like two years ago that did this crazy super long race. Took like 12 hours or something. Anyway, his….um, manparts went numb and he didn’t feel anything down there for like two weeks. That seems just…..bad.”

Girl 1: “ohmigod, seriously? that’s stupid!”

Me: “Heh. Is that stupid or just dedicated?”

Girl 2: “That’s stupid! I mean, like, why would he do that? How would he use it? Lame, lame, lame.”

Me: “Maybe it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was functional, but numb?”

(insert uncomfortable silence here)

Girl 2: “oh. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Me: “uh-huh.”

Girl2: “Yeah, so I’m embarrassed, now, so I’ll be backing away now.”
Girl1 gets up and goes away with Girl 2.

Guy friend that was sitting with me: “Nice move, Woods.”

Admittedly, when this happened, I had no problem telling the story. I thought it was funny. Evidently, a full two YEARS later, it’s remembered well enough to be the topic of a random conversation. I knew the feeling would come back. It took about two weeks, and I fully recovered. All systems go. (Well, honestly, it was a little disconcerting, but, whatever, the point is it wasn’t lasting damage)

So, I’ve got two nicknames in Fairbanks.
“The Chainsaw Guy”, which I earned by running a chainsaw from *inside* a brush pile. At a party. In the dark.

The other one, I guess, is “Numb Cock Guy” It’s really no fucking wonder I’m single.

That is all.