Big Lights, Big City: Four, Blood and Tincture

"Why I am bleeding?" I just heard this shouted Indian-accented from down the hall where TB tests are being done. Took care of mine just minutes ago. Hopefully I still do not have TB. Patty the nurse said, "I gotta shoot you up." I said, "Good times."

Speaking of good times...even for a relatively bike-illiterate me, Interbike, our official reason for visiting Vegas, struck my fancy. I swear the large room it took place in was birthing bikes and bike booths while we were there. There was no end. When I thought we'd visited every corner there was always more. I came away with a small cache of stickers and a Primo t-shirt given to me by John Warren, who was on crutches. On which note both Mark and I noted there were many people hobbling from booth to booth with a crippled left foot/ankle/leg. Anyway, on the front of the t-shirt is an elephant. How did he know I seek the elephant? John Warren must be my distant, forgotten cousin.

Also in bike news, Mark and I were treated to a rather decadent Mexican dinner at Treasure Island by the cool folks at Haro. By decadent I mean bloody mary, fancy margarita, beer, multiple appetizer, choice entree, posh dessert. Before dinner they kindly dosed me with a strawberry saturated with moonshine.

We also saw Drew Carey eating breakfast. Apparently the day before, he had been sitting in the booth we were in. This day he was sitting across the restaurant, wearing a yellow shirt, shaggy hair, shadow on his face, and receiving the insistent stares of the people sitting next to him. He read the paper. I know this because I had a hard time not looking myself. It was involuntary and strange. I didn't think I cared. I did want to tell him, though, that I think Ryan Stiles is great, but I thought that would be a little like "Hey Bob how's it going? Your best friend is hot, sexy and in my dreams. Can you hook me up?" Uncouth.