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“Ride #39: Foot Fetish Freak!”

From: Seth Dillingham In Response To: 3225  Cycling in July, 2003
Date Posted: Saturday, July 5, 2003 8:45:59 PM Replies: 2
   
Enclosures: None.

Today's weather was hot but great for riding, so I planned an "out and back" to the far end of Misquamicut Beach in Westerly, RI. Should have been approximately 46 miles.

After twenty five miles -- already on my way home -- my bike computer said my average speed was 20.2. Ehhhhhxcellent! Yes, I'd had the wind at my back for much of the ride, but I was happy with it.

Unfortunately, I got a flat on Rte. 1 coming back into Mystic. I tried to change the tube, but found that my saddle bag didn't have my tools (grrr!). After pumping up the tire as much as I could, I rode on... but it was flat again within a mile. Mystic Cycle was closed, so I just took off my shoes and started walking to the closest pay phone.

At the first phone, I called Corinne to ask for a ride. She didn't answer, so I had to leave a message. There was something wrong with the pay phone, though, as I couldn't hear my voice through the ear piece, and in fact Corinne didn't get a message.

My next step took me right into the Twilight Zone.

The phone was at the corner of a pizza joint's parking lot. Some guy in his 50's, dressed in a t-shirt and neon-orange shorts came out of the restaurant and headed towards me and the phone. When he got there I was walking away, and he stood there for a few seconds obviously undecided about what to do. I thought he must be shy, and didn't want to step up to the phone until I was really away from it, so I ignored him and just moved on.

But no. A little bit later, I turned around and found him following me. (The entire following conversation occured while walking towards downtown Mystic. Keep that in mind... we're walking the entire time. He was following me.)

When he saw me turn, he mumbled, "Got a flat tire?"

"Yep."

"Mumble mumble."

"What?"

"I was wondering, er, would you like me to give you a ride home? That's my car, there," he said, pointing to a little red Ford Focus in a parking lot up ahead.

"I don't think I'd fit in your car, never mind my bike. I've already called for a ride, anyway."

"Ah," he said, "mumble mumble."

"'scuze me? Say that again?"

"Well, could I, um, ask you a strange question?"

Uh oh. "Shoot."

"How big are your feet?"

Wha...? "Size 15."

"Wow. I bet you get that question a lot."

"Not really. Most people introduce themselves by asking how tall I am."

"How tall are you?"

"6 foot 10."

"Mumble mumble murphle...," he said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you again."

"I have another strange question. Stranger."

Oh, joy. "Ok."

"Could I take a picture of your feet?"

"What!?"

"Well, you don't see feet that big very often."

"Sure, I do." Ooh, I'm so clever. "Fine, I'll stand here and you can take a picture of my feet." Anything to get this guy to go away.

"No, let's go back to my car."

"We... what?! We don't need to go back to your car to take a picture of my feet! You've go the camera in your hands."

"I don't want anybody to see what we're doing."

"No. I'm not going back the wrong direction." (We'd passed his car already, and were down the road.) "If you want to get away from the road, we can go into this store's parking lot."

"Ok," he mumbled.

He wanted to go all the way to the back of the lot, by the trash dumpster, but that wasn't going to happen. If he'd made the wrong move, I didn't want the ambulance to have a hard time finding him (seriously, that thought crossed my mind).

So the freak took his pictures. Six of them, in fact. He stood a little too close to me, and put his right foot alongside my bare left foot (can't walk in my cycling shoes, remember), and took three.

"Mumble mumble?"

"What?"

"Um. Which foot is bigger?"

"I don't know! They're both size 15."

"Well, I need pictures of the other foot, too, then."

Fine. I moved the bike to my left hand, and he went around to my right. Now it was his left foot next to my right, and three more shots.

"You sure I can't give you a ride home?" Hey, I heard him that time!

"Oh yeah, I'm sure."

He turned and walked back towards his car (or the restaurant, whatever), and I continued into Mystic. Called Corinne again, actually spoke to her, and she came to pick me up. I told her the story in the car on the way home.

Last I heard, she was still muttering "Freak" under her breath pretty frequently, and shaking her head.

I assume she's talking about the weirdo with the camera. ;-)

Stats: 40.5 miles (65.20 km) in 2h 7' 20" for an average speed of 19.08 mph (30.72 kph).


Discussion Thread:
  • Eeew. (by steve davis at 7/7/2003)

    That'll teach you to keep your tools in the saddlebag. Have you checked Google yet to see if your feet

    • Re: Eeew. (by steve davis at 7/7/2003)

    • Re: Eeew. (by Seth Dillingham at 7/7/2003)

      That was my thought, too. My feet are ugly, man! ;-)

      • RE: Eeew. (by Greg Pierce at 7/8/2003)

        On Mon, 07 Jul 2003 17:30:16 -0400, Seth Dillingham wrote: >That was my thought, too. My feet are ugly,

  • Re: Ride #39: Foot Fettish Freak! (by Philippe Martin at 7/7/2003)

    Now the guy can claim (and even bet) that he has photos of Bigfoot! ;-) Seriously, Seth, when do you

    • RE: Ride #39: Foot Fettish Freak! (by Seth Dillingham at 7/8/2003)

      On 7/7/2003, Philippe Martin said: >Seriously, Seth, when do you start writing novels? I'm sure you'd

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