Monday morning was hurry-up-and-wait, but every rider was cheerful and the feeling was as familiar as leather personnel carriers: we were embarking on a squad-sized vehicle road march, with a support team in larger vehicles. Up in our room, George and I had fiddled with gear, packing and repacking bags and pockets and jackets and … [more]

We all speak the same language, even if the dialects differ. It’s a language of cheerful suffering (aka “good training!”) and affected cynicism that papers over selfless service (e.g. “yeah, y’know, it’s all about me…”). Over dinner at the Burbank Marriott’s Daily Grill, the jokes leapt over each other like sportive otters, just the way you … [more]

  I don’t play games. There are so many other fine ways to waste time, money, and spousal patience that I’ve never really felt the draw. Well, not since all those bags of quarters invested in playing Battle Zone at the Plaid Pantry, anyway. The best moment in any game is the bonus round. That’s the one … [more]