Pucker UpEighteen miles left to go in my dirt century* yesterday, I was busy putting away my phone back into my handlebar bag. I just finished telling my wife how close I was and wondered if she could pick me up from Georgetown. All of a sudden, I felt a thwack on my front teeth. Instinctively, I closed my mouth, then I felt it. Legs!
It didn't take long for the wiring in my lips to fire a message to my brain that I had a bee in my mouth. Teeth clamped shut, both hands came up, and PTUI! PTUI! PTUI! Two seconds of swatting and trying to remove the bee from my mouth, while still cruising hands-free at 15 mph, I feel it: ZOTZ! Stung. Inside my mouth. The inner part of my lip. FuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckinA. It hurts. Bad.
It's been so long since I've been stung, I don't know if I'm allergic. Luckily, I have a Claritin with me and I gulp it down as soon as I can find it. I ask a rider coming my way to stop and check the inside of my lip and if the stinger's still around. "Nope," she says, "but your top lip's getting fat and red."
Twelve hours and 4 Benadryls later, it's still numb and swollen to twice it's normal size. Ironically, some people pay a lot for this.
Moral o' the story? God don't like folks chit-chattin' on the phone while biking.