Ritchey Road Logic 2.0 Product Review – Initial Impressions


A much more detailed report will follow.  But in the meantime, I honestly can’t figure out what all the hype about carbon bikes is all about.  Having ridden this bike almost 500 miles in varied road conditions i.e. smooth pavement, rough pavement, dirt and gravel, it escapes me why someone needs to spend $5,000 on a carbon bicycle frame! This is a FANTASTIC riding steel bicycle frame at a great and affordable price!  MSRP is $1,049.95

I have often told my customers that I can tell if I’m going to like or be impressed by a bike in the first 10 pedals strokes out of my driveway.  It’s the same with saddles, wheels, tires you name it.  But I know some of you out there want to see a longer evaluation period so I will continue to ride and enjoy this bike.  I will report back after I have reached a certain mileage milestone.  Tomorrow is a very big riding day and I am excited to spend my day on the Ritchey Road Logic 2.0!

The crew is assembled for the 308


In the eleventh hour Alin has stepped up and volunteered to crew for team Hutton’s Vireo.  Thank you in advance for your selfless dedication and devotion to getting us to the finish line!

The 308 is almost exactly 2 months since I was cleared to ride from my broken hip back in January 2014.  I am blessed to have Alin returning as my crew chief.  I am doubly blessed with having Lori Hoechlin as my relay teammate.  She has been riding really strong this year.  I only hope I don’t slow her down too much :)

I will put SPOT transmitter so if you are interested in following us on the 308 race course please look for the link in the next couple of days!  If you are local to Southern California please make an effort to be at the Start/Finish hotel and support AdventureCORPS, crews and racers!


Saturday 5/31 630am start time

Hyatt Regency Valencia 24500 Town Center Drive (at McBean Pkwy), Valencia, CA 91355, 661-799-1234.

All for now…


Alin Lupas Crew Chief

Lori Hoechlin Racer

George “Red-Eyed Vireo” Vargas racer


Product Review – Diadora Vector Pro Cycling Shoes

I am very excited to do a product review on the new Diadora Vector Pro Cycling shoes.

MSRP $399

A few quick notes I wear a Specialized S-Works, Suplest a Switzerland company, and Shimano.  I am also wearing a Diadora Vector Pro 45.

Right out of the box the fit and finish was extraordinary!  The stitching work was immaculate.

The upper is made from large panels to minimize seams.

The insole supplied is a throw-away insole.  I use a Specialized insole.  I replaced it immediately.

There are a few good days of riding in this next week I will report back after a few hundred miles.

You can browse the Diadora Vector Pro here





Hospital Experience III

I would like to thank you for reading my blog.  Your comments, publicly and privately, have kept me motivated during this down time.  Let’s press on.

In case you missed the accident post

part I 

part II 

When I last left you  I was having trouble urinating.  Nurse Shannon impressed upon me the importance of urinating.  If she didn’t have 350 ml of urine during her shift then I wouldn’t be allowed to go home.  The clock was now ticking… against me.

Over the years as my dedication to cycling and my mileage increased many of the things I used to do on my free time were put on the back burner.  My free time waned as I moved through the stages of recreational bike rider (read occasional rider), avid cyclist, enthusiast cyclist and eventually to an Ultra Cyclist.  Cycling is a very time intensive sport. You can easily loose 4-6 hours of productivity in your day but gain the intangibles of mental clarity, stress relief and physical fitness.  Many of the hobbies I had before cycling have become a thing of the past.  I have joked with my friends and said, “I used to _________ but that was BC” BC- before cycling.

You might recall from my last post that I was unable to eat my breakfast.  It had been more than 24 hours since my last meal — a protein shake.  I drank my juice and had a scant amount of oatmeal which I promptly threw up during my two PT visits.  As the hours passed my stomach came back online. I ordered lunch and consumed it zestfully.  The cart arrived.  The main course – macaroni and cheese, the cheese was delightfully browned from the center giving way to the caramel colored brunt edges – just the way I like it, bread rolls in individual baggies with frozen butter, oh why can’t I can’t I have soft butter, and mixed vegetables that, surprisingly, were not overcooked.  Am I really in a hospital?  Compliments to the chef, serveur! I had been drinking juices and water moderately up until that point.

I starting to feel my bladder expanding. A nice compliment to my pleasantly full stomach…finally.  I thought I must be ready to urinate. I reached for the bed pan set myself up and I waited…and waited…and nothing.  I was having performance anxiety of a different type. The nurse checked in on me and again I handed her an empty bottle.

She informed me that the surgeon was concerned.  His concern would lead to my torture at the hands of the pleasant nurse Shannon.  The next thing she said made me shudder, “….Catheter”.  Few words can put the fear of God in you like that one word.  Can you say shrinkage?

I use to take lots of pictures of landscapes and I enjoyed it.  Notice I didn’t dare call myself a photographer.  This was during the age of the SLR and print film. Do you remember those days?  Buying film in 24 or 36 exposure.  Counting each shot you took.  Ensuring that each picture was perfectly in focus and composed just right.  Now in the digital age we shoot pictures indiscriminately without regard to quantity or quality.  Today a picture can be taken with your “Smartphone”,  a word that didn’t even exist in the dictionary back in 1987!  I enjoyed the process of scouting locations or interesting people and I would frame the results.  I still have a few photos from those days – framed and on my walls.  This is one of my favorites. But that was BC.
Taken when I was in Egypt on a plateau that overlooked the Great Pyramids.

The Greeks are famous for saying everything in moderation but I don’t think they had to fear a catheter.  Drinking in moderation wasn’t working.  The fear of a catheter was now my new source of motivation to HYDRATE!  I thought about all the times I did long training rides and didn’t hydrate by the “one bottle and hour” rule.  I often go on 6-8 hours rides and not pee once.  I feel fine and finish my rides quite strong with surges and sprints towards the end.  I feared that living in this  chronically dehydrated state had now impacted my ability to pee on command.

With renewed interest and now stress added on top,  I began a more aggressive plan on hydrating.  However, I still had reservations.  What happens if I fill my bladder up and then still can’t urinate?  Wouldn’t that be it’s own torment?  Wouldn’t that be a more serious medical issue?

I used to ride a motorcycle   I’ve had 3 very fast motorcycles (Ninjas and Suzuki’s) from 600-1100 cc.  Yes I was the guy in full black Hein Gericke leathers, Alpine Stars racing boots and blacked-out face shield.  Yes I was also the guy ripping up and down Palomar Mountain that you detest.  I have done some ridiculous things on motorcycles.  Often I would find a stretch of road and open it up!  Full throttle! top Gear! Redline!  150-160 mph on the freeway or if I was lucky enough to find a deserted road I would “PEG IT”. I would take the motorcycle to it’s limits scraping pegs, knees and mufflers on curvy canyon or mountain roads.  The adrenaline coursing through my veins as I laid the bike over just inches from the ground made my body tingle.  I am lucky to have escaped certain death in many situations. Motorcycling taught me to be a great bike handler and a fearless and skilled descender on my human powered bike.  I loved my Sunday mornings on my motorcycle.  But that was BC.

Garden variety catheters


A few more of my attempts to pee in the bottle had come to naught.  I had stalled nurse Shannon long enough.  She left the room and returned with a packet.  She explained that this must be done because for some reason my body was not working properly.  I was awake but my urinary system was still downstairs in the OR.  Nurse Shannon and I were about to take our relationship to another level.


If you have never had a catheter you can’t relate.  If you have then I apologize for having you relive with me the discomfort and pain of what I am about to describe.  It was the strangest sensation.  I felt like I was urinating but I wasn’t and it felt all wrong it was all in reverse.  I could see the seemingly harmless, flexible and pliable red tube disappearing into me and I could feel it entering my body now.  When it hit bottom, my bladder, she moved the tube in and out. I felt like I was finally urinating.  I squawked,  “oh good we have something now!” She simply shook her head in a disapproving fashion the way a pitcher signals to his catcher. Shannon then pulled out the catheter and seemed as frustrated as I was.

I used to be a runner.  I loved running.  I ran road.  I ran dirt.  I have done many 5K’s, a few 10K’s and two Half Marathons.  When I was in the Marine Corps I would run the first half of the 5k, required as part of our Physical Fitness Test (PFT),  stop and smoke a cigarette with another Marine named Chris.  We would watch the other Marines suffer as they ran past us at the turnaround point.  Then we would flick the cigarette and finish the second half chasing everyone down striving for a negative split.  We could do 19-20 minute 5K that way or run straight through and max out the points in the test by running sub 18 minutes. I miss Chris he was a good running partner.  I have never run a full marathon …not officially anyway.  But I once ran over 26.2 miles (about 28 miles) in training just so I could say to myself, and no one else, that I could do it.  I was out on a training run and felt great at 21 miles,  “the wall”, people talk about so I kept running.  I never felt the wall.  I don’t know what people mean by that.  I was living in Santee, CA at the time and it was a cool 80 ish F in the morning and well over 100F for my last 5 miles.  It was a 4 hour run through road and dirt and stopping for stop lights.  It was a good run. It was a good day. But that was BC.

Nurse Shannon returns she has consulted with the surgeon.  She has to try again.  The surgeon hypothesizes that the nurse has put too much lube and that some of it must have plugged the very small opening of the catheter tube.  Wait, that was too much lube?  Are you kidding? I tremble imagining what no lube would feel like.  And then I’m horrified to hear that she will be putting that damn tube in me again.  I tried to urinate on my own but I only have a dribble to show for my intense focus.

Here we go again with the catheter sliding into me.  In and out once she hits bottom and still no flow.  She pulls the tube out and scraps everything.  I’m really concerned now.  She rushes off to call the surgeon.  She returns arms akimbo and says if I don’t start flowing soon we will have to resort to more extreme measures. She smiles but I sense the urgency in her voice.  I’m not sure what qualifies as extreme measures put that damn catheter up my !@#$ was pretty damn extreme lady! My refractory urinary system is putting me through hell!

I hated writing when I was in school.  I enjoyed just one writing class in college, just one.  All my other classes were a chore.  They were work and requirements for my degrees.  When I started blogging back in 2004 or 2005, can’t remember, I discovered that writing was actually enjoyable.  If I could choose the subject matter I wanted to write about then it was fun.  Devoid of the encumbrance of a time schedule or the requisite subject of which I must expound upon my writing became pleasurable. My blog posts allowed me to express my interests.  I felt obliged to divulge the secrets of my successful races.  And more importantly I felt duty-bound to communicate, in significant detail, my failures.

I am now determined to make this happen.  Time and time again I attempt to urinate.  Beads of sweat actually form on my forehead as I concentrate and push with all my might. And then… a dribble.  Then a trickle.  And finally a stream.  It had been 30+ hours since I had last urinated. Each time I had something I would call the nurse into the room.  I was like the anxious student standing at the teacher’s desk waiting to have their paper graded.  I eventually had more than 350 ml for nurse Shannon- always an overachiever.  But there I was each time a little more flow and each a little more proud of my urine in a bottle.  Isn’t that just ridiculous?  But this meant no more catheter evil woman! This straw colored liquid in the graduated vessel meant my freedom!

Staples on my right hip

Thank you for reading my blog.  With my urinary system working discharge was imminent.  Stay tuned for a more pleasurable post about the family and friends  that made my stay enjoyable.

Hospital Experience II

Where… where….am… I?  What…what…is.. this? Oh my God I can’t feel my legs! I can’t wiggle my toes! What the fuck?!

Click here for Hospital Experience I

Nurses come to my side and apprise me of the current situation.  I am in a recovery room and that I have just come out of surgery.  How many times have they come to the aid of a bewildered patient?  How many times have they had to provide comfort and calm to a startled and rattled patient?

It takes only a few seconds for my station to become clear to me.   I now know where I am.  I know why I am here.  But there is still something very disconcerting…I can’t feel my legs.  The worst scenario creeps into my head…they fucked up!  I won’t be able to ride again, walk again, run… Fear, then anger builds inside of me, then it becomes fear again

I exclaim, “Nurse I can’t feel my legs I can’t wiggle my toes!”

Once again the calming voice comes to me and says,  “You had an epidural for your surgery.  You are awake from the general anesthesia but the epidural hasn’t worn off yet.”

I think to myself I will fight this and move my legs— but nothing.  I become frustrated.  I pass out.  Later I awake and try again.  I am frantic.

The nurse comes again and mollifies me, “relax, be patient it will wear off soon”.

I fought the nurse telling her I could beat the anesthesia.  They laughed at me of course.  But I came out fighting!

I remember her soothing demeanor.  I began to assess what I knew for sure.  I had had a bike accident, I fractured my femur, 24 hours later I checked into the hospital, I was then scheduled for emergency surgery, I was now in the recovery room.  Prior to the surgery I had this one preoccupying thought— I was starving….hmm…I’m not hungry now.  I have no idea what time it is but it must be late in the night or the wee hours of the next day.  I’m good now I have my bearings and my locus of control.

The nurse checks on me again.  I remember joking with her and calling her by the wrong name.  She took it in stride.  We took a picture…I can’t remember the picture being taken.

Recovery room nurse I can’t remember her name

When I got home I searched on YouTube for videos about my surgery. Isn’t YouTube amazing?  You can find virtually anything on there.  What is even more amazing is the body’s resilience and how it recovers from major trauma and the subsequent stress of surgery.


The first 40 seconds or so pertain to my injury

and here is the finished product

Hours pass and I am transported to my room on the 7th floor.  Honestly I don’t remember being conveyed through the labyrinth again.  I don’t remember anything that happened that night.  I assume my vitals were taken at some point throughout the night.  

The following morning I met Shannon.  She would be my nurse until I was discharged.  First order of business was breakfast.  The hospital wanted me to eat, bring my strength up, make me mobile, and begin my transition from recovery patient to discharged patient.  

I let the nurse place my breakfast order for me.  The menu options were the usual American style breakfast.  Being a creature of habit, I love my coffee in the morning but it wasn’t appetizing at all anything after that would be inconsequential.   Along with my coffee I like to eat a very light breakfast – whether it’s a 50 or 500 mile ride.  As soon as I start pedaling I begin taking in calories.  If I have breakfast it’s usually toast and peanut butter, or a small bowl of oatmeal, or a cup of Greek yogurt with honey and/or fresh berries or a Probar.   I prefer to eat light or not at all so I can get on the bike within an hour of waking up.  

Breakfast arrived and I couldn’t bear the smell of it.  The night before while waiting for surgery I was ravenous.  I fantasized of a big hearty meal …gluttony even.  But now I couldn’t lift the dome off of the main dish.  I pushed it aside.  I was nauseous.  My friends know me to always be hungry.

Two physical therapist came to visit.  My task, their task, was to make me mobile and get me to the bathroom.  I was presented with a walker.  A shocking reality came to me at that moment– I must be pretty jacked up!  If I needed a walker that meant I wasn’t going to be too very mobile was I?  The PT’s were kind and helpful as they assisted me move my recently operated leg off the bed.  They helped me up and instructed me how to take my first few steps.  All was good…for a few seconds and then…vertigo.  I was nauseous and spat up.  I motioned to the PT that I was sick she reached for a bucket and I began to vomit.  First dry heaves and then the retching became productive as I expelled a thick gooey substance.  How pitiful I must have looked to that PT.  Stabilized by only a walker, the rear of my hospital gown open, regurgitating into a bucket.  I was quite the example of a sickly and weak man. I was embarrassed, humiliated and apologized profusely that they had to see me this way.  Eventually, I reached the bathroom.  I stood over the toilet and tried to urinate but nothing came out.  I tried and tried was I experiencing a serious case of stage fright?  Little did I know that my biggest struggle for discharge had just begun.

Hours later I had my second PT visit.  The PT suggested we try a walk out into the hall.  Things went well as we past the threshold of my room.  The big expansive hallway was bright and inviting.  I made progress, albeit slowly and carefully, with no apparent direction.  My bike rides are the same.  I leave my home with a goal of a certain number of hours but no dedicated route.  Those first few miles I assess how I am feeling and then choose the routes to compliment how I’m feeling.  If I feel flat and lacking power I take the coast, if my legs feel fresh and strong I take to the hills.

Here I was standing in the middle of the hallway to my right a long hallway, to my left a shorter walk with a massive and enticing window as a reward.  I told the PT we were going to the window to take a look outside.  Just about halfway, I became sick again.  I held it together long enough for the PT to run back to my and fetch a catch bucket.  Great… more humiliation but now in public view!  I emptied out the exiguous breakfast I had had earlier and gave the PT my bucket. Was this in her job description I wondered.  Again, I apologized as I tidied and steadied myself.

She said, “Let’s head back to the room that’s enough progress for today”

I countered, “No. We are going to the window.  That’s was the goal and the goal hasn’t changed.  You’re my wing-woman come on.”

Shortly after vomiting…again.  Are those helmet tan lines on my forehead?

We had a chuckle and I continued to shuffle – me and my walker and my IV machine.  As I reached the window I felt this huge sense of control again.  I had held off vomiting and had transported myself a good distance less than 12 hours post surgery.  While looking out to the surrounding hills the PT and I discussed my accident, my injury, my surgery, my expected recovery and so on.  I came to the realization that here in the hospital it didn’t matter whether you were a great athlete or a couch potato.  The staff was there to help you get well, recover and send you home to your loved ones.  But I couldn’t help remember a line from a movie.

“Here you are all equally worthless”

While I was up and around I decided to make another trip to the bathroom.  I still couldn’t pee. Nurse Shannon added a little more stress to my predicament if I couldn’t urinate I couldn’t go home.  I focused intently but nothing would come out. I was so frustrated.  How can a normal body function such as urinating take so much effort.

In the next segment the drama of not being able to void continues you won’t want to miss it…

My Hospital Experience Part I

Headline:  George “Red Eyed Vireo” Vargas undergoes emergency surgery for broken leg

Click here for previous post regarding my crash

On Jan 3, 2014 approximately 24 hours after my crash I drove myself to the ER.  I winced, limped, and hobbled my way from the car park to the Emergency Room  registration desk.  I had brought with me several cycling magazines expecting to be sitting in the waiting area all day.  Much to my surprise, no sooner had I answered the basic questions I was escorted to the examination room directly from the registration desk.  Within 10 minutes I was under the X-Ray machine and within another 10 minutes I got the news. The process was annoyingly efficient. The report I dreaded hearing came far too soon.

“Mr. Vargas you have a femoral neck fracture” or words to that effect.  I stared blankly, incredulously, into the ER doctor’s eyes.  It was almost a scene from a movie from that statement forward.  Time slowed… almost stopped… as the ER doctor continued to speak her voice became inaudible.  The once wide examining room suddenly transformed to a tunnel closing in on her lips.  I stared at her lips mouthing words and yet no sound. For the life of me, I can’t tell you anything else the ER doctor said after she said “…fracture”.  It might have been seconds or minutes but then I paused, breathed deeply, regrouped and regained my focus.  This is important, life altering, news I must heed.  I then listened with the rapt attention of someone being handed a life sentence, quizzically, since I was innocent!

The ER doctor exited the room and returned within a few minutes.  She had contacted the Orthopedic surgeon on duty and he confirmed the fracture and requested that I be transferred to his hospital immediately.  An emergency surgery procedure was necessary.  I thought there was a void in the information flow.  “Wait what are my options?”  I asked. “Surgery?  That’s it?  Can we talk about options?”

“The specialist will go over your options once you are under his care at the main hospital.” ER doctor explained. “We are arranging transportation now.  Should only be a few minutes before we move you.” she continued.

Then as if on cue, like roadies backstage, scads of people came into the room.  One person doing an EKG on the right side of me.  A 2-person team on the left side of the bed drawing blood and setting up an IV. Then another young man who was an intern introduced himself.  Simultaneously, my nurse was being relieved and a new nurse was coming on to his shift.  Lots of people and activity in a small room and lots of poking, prodding and charting.  At one point I counted 5 people not including me in the room.  It was approximately 9:30 am and I was told that I could not eat or drink until my surgery.  “SURGERY?!?” That word still had not sunk in.

Wait what the heck is going on?  Everything was happening so fast.  I had walked yes walked into the ER fewer than 30 minutes before and I was already, admitted, IV’d, EKG’d, blood tested and being prepped for transport which was tantamount to being prepped for surgery.  But wait I hadn’t even read a complete article in one of the cycling magazines I brought with me.

And why this reticence towards surgery?  Call me old fashioned, superstitious or just plain apprehensive but I don’t like the thought of being put to sleep and going under the knife.  Have I watched too many movies?  Have I watched too many real life investigations? Maybe but accidents do happen and simple surgeries have turned into dramatic medical complications.  But there’s yet another ratiocination.  I reasoned that I had  fallen or crashed on my bike many times before, in quite spectacular fashion mind you, without breaking anything save my skin. And now a speed bump is going to claim me as its prize?  I imagined the speed bump reveling in its victory.  “I felled the mighty George Vargas!”  (I’m not mighty but to a speed bump I must look like a giant) Damn speed bump! How pitiful I was giving life to the speed bump but in my mind it was as evil as the those squirrels in the Gieco commercial.

While waiting for my transport things started to slow down.  The oncoming nurse  took a little more time explaining what is typical in these cases.  He also showed me my x-ray and deciphered the medical terminology.  He took the time to write down for me what was wrong with me. This small act of kindness paid off in spades.  Now when my friends asked me what my injury was I could speak intelligently about it.  I was also armed with information to do my own Google searches :)  But not now I had to conserve battery power on my phone.  I had to call my son’s mom to make arrangements to pick up our son from camp. Oh dear, what will my son think of me all jacked up? Wait did I have clean underwear on today?

The note the nurse handed to me.  It was the most salient bit of information I was given on day one of my ordeal.


The transfer service arrived and I was taken to the main hospital.  It turns out that I should have gone to that hospital in the first place.  It was closer to home, bigger, newer and it was rated as a trauma center!  In the ambulance as I was making small talk with one of the paramedics we rolled over railroad tracks that were not as smooth as they should have been considering their proximity to the hospital.  The spring response rate on the back of the ambulance catapulted me off the gurney.  Yes, I got air and then I slammed back down to the gurney!  I saw stars!  I had no idea we were approaching something so rough nor did I anticipate how painful my hip was now 26 hours after my crash.  Long gone were the endorphins, adrenaline and shock that helped me continue my hill repeat training session in moderate to intense pain.  Now it was all real-time pain!

Once inside the new hospital I was taken to a very nice clean private room.  However It felt as though we had taken the most circuitous route in getting to my room. Is this hospital that big?  Or are these guys lost? Down one corridor, up another, turn left here, turn right here ok U-turn the Greek myth of the Labyrinth came to mind.

As I mentioned before my room was nice, private and with a view of the hills in the foreground over-layed by mountains in the background.  Oh the hills…oh the mountains how long would it be before I would climb up from your feet to your lovely curvy roads, ride along your spine and descend, or free fall as I call it, back to bottom?

My bed was equipped with a bed sore prevention air mattress.  The first time it made an adjustment it scared the poop out of me lol!  What the heck was that? At the foot of the bed was a pneumatic compression calf sleeve system to keep the blood from pooling in my lower extremities.  I appreciated all the bells and whistles included with my bed but I had no intention of making this a long term stay!! I was here for a surgery and that’s all.  Yes, I was finally coming to terms with undergoing surgery.  But that also meant getting it done and getting out of here! I would be recovering at home thankyouverymuch!

Before I could be sent home there was this little issue of a fractured femur.  It’s hard to see in the picture provided.  I was taking a picture of the computer screen with my iPhone.  If you look real hard there are two little yellow arrows that point to the fracture.  The fact that it is hard to see is a good thing.  Something else to notice is that my femur is not “significantly displaced” ,in other words, the bone is still pretty much together.  This would explain why I was able to complete my hill repeat climbing ride, carry on with the rest of my day and not report in to a hospital for another 24 hours later.  The pain was severe but it would have been debilitating had the femur become displaced.

Here is another picture to help you understand my fracture.

Soon after arriving at the hospital my son found his way to my room.  He’s always been good with puzzles and mazes.  He gave me the “I told you something was wrong daddy” look that only a 9 year old can give you and make you feel completely ashamed of your false bravado antics over the last 24 hours.  I apologized for not respecting his opinion and said I would pay more attention to him next time.

I was now in a holding pattern.  Vital signs were taken yet again, questionnaire after questionnaire was filled out via verbal Q&A.  Being a healthy guy, except for this broken leg, I repeatedly answered “No” to the exorbitant amount and often redundant questions about my medical history.

“Have you ever had….?” or

“Have you ever experienced ….?”  and

“How often do you….?”

My answer was “NO” “NO” and “Never” I could tell that each inquisitor grew weary of my negative responses and the lack of juicy material in which to dig in deeper with follow-up questions.

Hours passed and I continued to be monitored while waiting for my Orthopedic surgeon and the Operating Room to become available.  Friday night is a business night at a trauma center.  I got bumped out of my surgery spot a couple of times for more serious life-threatening cases.  By now the pain was really getting bad.  I was offered Morphine but it didn’t do anything for the real pain and what little efficacy there was wore off rather quickly.  I resolved to dealing with the pain because surgery was going to take care of everything. I was also very hungry!  It had been at least 12 hours since my last meal.  Which wasn’t even a meal it was a protein shake earlier that morning about 8am because believe it or not I had intended on riding that morning so I didn’t eat breakfast.

Eventually my number was called and I was conveyed to the Operating Ward to be prepped.  As we said in the Marine Corps…Hurry up and wait!  More and more incessant questioning…haven’t we done this already? Didn’t you and the other nurse compare notes? Don’t you have anything original to ask me?

I could see it was getting more and more real now.  I was close enough to see patients removed from the Operating Room.  I was given a shower cap to contain my abundant coffee color curly locks and then we waited again.

Surgeon marking an “X” on my upper right hip

The surgeon came in and we confirmed together that it was my right leg that needed surgery. We joked but we both knew the serious nature of his question.  I was happy to have that question asked more than once!  He made an “X” on my right upper thigh.  The anesthesiologist, aka Sandman, was a funny little man.  He was full of jokes.  Maybe he was just giddy from being at the hospital a full shift and more, it was past 11pm and he was still working.  He asked how much I wanted to be put under.  I said “all the way doc!”  He said he would do a general and an epidural.  The epidural thing would freak me out later.  I guess I didn’t really understand what that was going to do to me.  Everyone was great.  I felt as relaxed as one could feel before undergoing surgery.  As the surgeon came in one last time to check on me he reassured me that he was going to fix me.

A few anxious minutes passed and then I got the nod.  I was wheeled in to the Operating Room.  I tried to take in all that I could.  I’m a curious fellow.  I didn’t get a chance to see much –  the Sandman had other ideas.  I asked him to make sure to tell me when he was putting me to sleep.  I want to see how long I could fight his venom.  He said “Now” and I don’t remember another thing after that.  His venom was much stronger than my willpower.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

You can learn more about anesthesia here.

In the next blog post I will talk about my surgery, my recovery and my first few days at home.