Like most amateur bike racers who spend hundreds of hours training and thousands of dollars on equipment, race entry fees, and travel expenses, I’m really just in it for the schwag. I mean, who wouldn’t spend a thousand bucks for a belt buckle? Or a hanger?
So of course the first thing I do after checking in for a race is rifle through the schwag bag to see what I got this time. And I’ve never yet been disappointed. That Lotoja water bottle that’s clear yellow and makes any liquid you put in it look like urine? Awesome. And really, who can’t use yet another white or heather gray t-shirt?
Last night I was at my parents’ house and noticed a coupon on the counter for a free loaf of great harvest bread. I assumed it must have come from my dad’s Lotoja schwag bag. I decided I better check mine to see if I had one too.
My lovely wife is a fantastic person but has two traits that I find absolutely inconceivable: 1) she doesn’t care for french fries; 2) she doesn’t like great harvest bread. As weird as both of these are, I’m OK with them. I mean let’s be honest, unless she has a sky-high metabolism, do any of us really want to be married to a woman who loves french fries and eats them all the time? Plus she makes amazing bread at home—rye, sourdough (chocolate and regular), whole wheat, croissants, cinnamon, ciabatta—you name it, she does it and does it well. So I never find myself wanting on the bread front.
Which is not to say that I don’t like great harvest bread; I actually like it a lot. Imagine my delight when I went through my own schwag bag last night and discovered that the person in charge of putting one great harvest coupon in each is really bad at counting.
No expiration dates, either. I’m genuinely excited about this one.
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The rich get richer.
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