I drove my Surly westward this evening in the hunt of the great whale, Moby Dick. I steered a course along the 14th parallel to Colfax towards Wadsworth. I then headed north on Carr across Colfax and into uncharted waters, but where I now believe the great Dick to live. My harpoon was ready. I remained attentive, vigilant. With a squall on the northern horizon I knew my window would be small, but I remained fixed on my task at hand. Life or limb be damned, I would find him.
***
I spotted the leviathan a week ago on 20th just past Wadsworth. I rolled along the westward lane of traffic where he turned off of Allison…or was it Zephyr? My sextant in my pannier and my Garmin at home I wasn’t sure of my exact longitude, but I assure you this: it was the Dick I saw. They may call me a liar, and laugh behind my back at my tale but I know it was him. I could feel his presence even before I caught site of the tell tale beater car, the missing front license plate, ratty grill and faded paint job. And then as if to clear his blow hole before descending back safely to the depths of the sea, the driver’s window cracked just enough, “Get off the street stupid!” and then he was gone.
My first sighting of the great white whale of a Dick came back in aught 9. I was 31. The world was my oyster and I regarded myself an able seaman, even if yet untested in the great waters of the west. Rumors of the great beast which trolled these waters almost seemed too extraordinary to believe. I was young, strong, confident and skeptical of the yarns of these old seamen, the same sailors who wet themselves at the sight of a Dodge Ram 1500 bearing down upon them; how could these fainthearted souls have seen the Dick firsthand and lived to tell the tale. They had to be pulling my peg leg, so to speak. Yet to see the old timers tell their survivor’s stories, the collective wisdom of those who’ve long sailed these seas, their eyes alone reveal the learned truth behind these whopping fish stories, which despite my initial inclination towards incredulity, are tales which clearly beg heed and earnest mindfulness. Yet in all my time coursing over the great expanse of ocean between Federal and Wadsworth I never once saw the Dick. That is until he caught me quite unawares, exhaust smoke billowing in his wake, the faint shape of some mid 70’s crap American gas hog all but discernable, yet the trade winds carried a faint tone of gruffness to my ears, “…stupid!” Could it really be true? I spun and looked, yet the seas were again calm, the event passed. I retold my stories over many an ale at the local tavern, I’m sure I heard correctly. “Now you see., Now you believe,“ the old timers replied and mocked my newfound religion. I swore it was HIM! I began to obsess, to conceive of the glory of catching the large, white, slovenly, ‘classic plated’ Dick.
Since this first meeting there have been others, always catching me somewhat by surprise, always with my Sanyo Harpoon effectively out of reach. After last week’s encounter I resolved myself to seek him out; rather than waiting for fate to deliver the beast to me I would go out and create my own destiny. I would seek out the Dick. I’d find him and I’d Lampoon his ass on my blog and pic his plates for the Lakewood PD. Today’s excursion proved unsuccessful. Promising leads revealed themselves at every cove and inlet as I slowly trolled the environs south of 20th. I baited the beast with shouts of “Share the Road” and “Cadel Rules Always” but to no avail. He stirred not from his watery slumber. Yet I’ve not given up hope. This is my quest and I accept that I shall carry out my days in the hunt for the great white, fat, beater driving Dick…or I will die or go mad trying.
These are the voyages of the Blue Surly Pequod.
“Cadel Rules Always”
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