Heywood at your service.
Does anyone bear in mind a previous post by the amazing Moveitfred involving house guest who clogged the Fred’s toilet? What the hell is a brotha to do when the same house guest visits Casa de Wood and plugs up our plumbing within the first hours of the visit?
The problem is the Woods moved from the old house with a new toilet containing a 2 3/8” trap way to the current casa which obviously does not contain such impressive hardware. The first time this terrific house guest rested his ass cheeks on the porcelain, he clogged the SOB. Yes, his virgin shit at the new shack. Mrs. Wood did not even have time to follow the advice of Gewilli and add a modest amount of fiber to the diet of the wonderful house guest. And yes, I got the same excuses as our pal Freddy did from wonderful guest; pipes are too old, incorrect kind of toilet, erroneous apparatus to unclog toilet. Something has got to change.
So the Woods and the houseguest that we love so much called an emergency meeting in the bathroom a first chance. We covered more efficient use of toilet paper, flushing more habitually while crapping, plunging technique, and physically cutting bulky terds into less significant pieces. Apparently our talked worked. Four days at the house, no more bunged toilets.
On to the real shit of this blog. Heywood really messed himself up this time. The trails were even and tacky with a crispness in the air that beckoned Woody to push the pace a little harder. On a slightly off camber right hand turn at Mach 3, the front tire lost traction so quickly that the bike was no longer beneath Wood within a split second. The landing was solid and rapid on the right side of Wood’s meek frame. While checking the body for injuries, it was instantly recognizable that the right shoulder did not feel the same as it did when the ride began. Fuck, the arm could not twirl on the shoulder at all. Realizing that there is no way in hell to traverse the remaining 20 miles on a trail, Wood dragged his bike a mile or two to the closest paved rode, called the wife and wept like a big pussy. First time in five years of mountain bike riding that Heywood had to call and find an alternative way home. Jablome’s life is over as me know it.
So after one week of rest and 16,800 mg of Advil, Wood is ready to hit the trail again. Shoulder still a little tender and the arm still can’t be raised above horizontal. The diagnosis is torn ligaments/tendons with no displacement or broken bones. So what does this mean, Heywood is just a big pussy for crying over a sprain/strain. Oh well, I am back on the bike again today. Happy trails.
Does anyone bear in mind a previous post by the amazing Moveitfred involving house guest who clogged the Fred’s toilet? What the hell is a brotha to do when the same house guest visits Casa de Wood and plugs up our plumbing within the first hours of the visit?
The problem is the Woods moved from the old house with a new toilet containing a 2 3/8” trap way to the current casa which obviously does not contain such impressive hardware. The first time this terrific house guest rested his ass cheeks on the porcelain, he clogged the SOB. Yes, his virgin shit at the new shack. Mrs. Wood did not even have time to follow the advice of Gewilli and add a modest amount of fiber to the diet of the wonderful house guest. And yes, I got the same excuses as our pal Freddy did from wonderful guest; pipes are too old, incorrect kind of toilet, erroneous apparatus to unclog toilet. Something has got to change.
So the Woods and the houseguest that we love so much called an emergency meeting in the bathroom a first chance. We covered more efficient use of toilet paper, flushing more habitually while crapping, plunging technique, and physically cutting bulky terds into less significant pieces. Apparently our talked worked. Four days at the house, no more bunged toilets.
On to the real shit of this blog. Heywood really messed himself up this time. The trails were even and tacky with a crispness in the air that beckoned Woody to push the pace a little harder. On a slightly off camber right hand turn at Mach 3, the front tire lost traction so quickly that the bike was no longer beneath Wood within a split second. The landing was solid and rapid on the right side of Wood’s meek frame. While checking the body for injuries, it was instantly recognizable that the right shoulder did not feel the same as it did when the ride began. Fuck, the arm could not twirl on the shoulder at all. Realizing that there is no way in hell to traverse the remaining 20 miles on a trail, Wood dragged his bike a mile or two to the closest paved rode, called the wife and wept like a big pussy. First time in five years of mountain bike riding that Heywood had to call and find an alternative way home. Jablome’s life is over as me know it.
So after one week of rest and 16,800 mg of Advil, Wood is ready to hit the trail again. Shoulder still a little tender and the arm still can’t be raised above horizontal. The diagnosis is torn ligaments/tendons with no displacement or broken bones. So what does this mean, Heywood is just a big pussy for crying over a sprain/strain. Oh well, I am back on the bike again today. Happy trails.
