By Tom Webb
The day started well enough. That is, until I went to do my first sit-up of the day. My head was buried in the
pillow, my eyes grubby with sleep goo and my head itched.
Not good. By the time I found some glasses and made it
to the bathroom mirror, I realized that there were ants in my
Now this freaked me out.
What possible reason would they have to invade my
bedroom? There was no food in it. I’m not into hair products, and the Jack Russells hadn’t brought in a gutted
lizard, rabbit or bird they’d tortured. The ants could have
had a field day in the kids’ rooms and lived for years off
of cookie crumbs and moldy coffee. They could probably
have found a complete smorgasbord in the piles of dirty
laundry that had turned into furniture. Instead, the ants
ditched the girls’ buffet offerings, opting to make my life
miserable. What are the odds?
Three hours later (after a complete sterilization), I
attempted to leave for work. I needed to load up a YZ250X
that we had modded and shoot it in the studio. Dag—no
loading ramp. Ron stole mine last time we were at the
palatial Dirt Bike offices. I rummaged around for something
that would make do. I found a short 2x4; I’m talking maybe
This was grim.
Suddenly, the reed valve opened in my head and I had
I backed my truck up to a fairly severe hill on my property. With the tailgate open, I then set down the chunk
of wood so that it
sloped down to my
truck bed. I’d have
to be careful walking
the YZ downhill and
onto the plank, but
hey, I’m a trained dirt
What are the odds that the makeshift loading ramp
would work perfectly? That is, until the front Dunlop kissed
the wood and shot forward into the truck bed. The YZ
endoed very ungracefully in between the hill and the tailgate and sat harpooned like it was yard art.
I launched when the YZ vanished from my grip.
My shins stopped bleeding by the time I got in line at
Jack in the Box. I’d taken a hit to both forearms, too, and
was curled up like an irritated snake in the back of my
truck for a good 10 minutes before I crawled out.
But, I was starving. So, as much as I despise fast food
(okay, I needed to go to confession anyway), I was in the
drive-through waiting for my chance to order. I saw a lot
of frantic hand gestures coming out of a Subaru with three
mountain bikes hanging off the back of it. These folks were
no doubt not well educated in fast-food etiquette. Finally,
they finished, and I rolled up, ordered in seven seconds
and moved up in line. I’m pretty sure that I had time for a
haircut and an eyebrow wax by the time I got my chicken
At first the freeway traffic was light. I was just noticing
that my sandwich tasted like a UPS box when the cars in
front of me suddenly stopped. What are the odds that a
semi would barf and back up
traffic for seven miles—and I
would be 6.8 miles from the
dead truck? Yee-freaking-haw.
It took me 54 minutes to make
After work I was planning to
hit the gym. The day was way
too frustrating, and I need to bleed off some anxiety. It was
as hot as the Nairobi desert when I started towards 24
Hour Fitness. On the horizon I thought I saw smoke, and
where I live this is not a good thing. By the time I got to the
gym, I knew that it wasn’t some chimney burning a log. A
huge wildfire had erupted and was out of control.
And what are the odds that my house would be sitting
right in the path of this brutal display of uncontrollable
fury? The girls and I had to evacuate over the weekend,
but we came through it unscathed. Many did not. What are
the odds that I’m grateful? o
What are the odds?
“The YZ endoed very ungracefully in between the hill and the tailgate and
sat harpooned like it was yard art.”
“By the time I found some glasses and made it to the bathroom
mirror, I realized that there were
ants in my hair.”