5:02am on Day Four. Sig Other is a bit sore and achy in anticipation of yet another century – the ride from Paso Robles to Santa Maria has two long, sloggy hills at the very beginning. He layers well - the sun is well hidden behind a bank of coastal sludge and will likely remain so. He prepares for the day and I hear him mutter under his breath. I lean in to hear him, worried that perhaps he’s getting run down from the ride or is in pain and not admitting it – worried I’ll hear about an aching back or pulled muscle. But what I hear is this: “that bitch better leave me a lone today.”
I know what “bitch” he means. He means the rider who thinks his friend Mark is his lover and feels that Mark somehow dissed him. I know this because yesterday, when I met Sig Other on the road for lunch, I overheard the following:
“That queen is after you, my friend.” “I know. She is way into my shit.” “Oh yeah, girl. You know she is.” “If she comes after me…”
Its true that Sig Other has always had a gift for acclimating – you can take him anywhere – cocktail party, football game, museum or campground and whether he is actually comfortable or not, he will find a way to speak the vernacular, to fit right in, to become the hit of the party. So I’m not SURPRISED really that he’s found both friends and enemies on the ride. But it’s a little weird to hear your 6’4” tough Israeli husband refer to another man as “her” or “that bitch” or “Mary.” It's a little weird to hear other men refer to your husband as "girl" and watch them flirt with him. It's a little weird to hear them offer to loan him an outfit for red tutu day tomorrow. Or maybe it's not. Maybe it’s just another day on the road…
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