Scott Martin

This column should be better than usual, since I took drugs beforehand to enhance my performance.

My doctor prescribed them because I have a pain in the neck. Which some of my alleged friends would call poetic justice.

Anyway, when Doc said he’d write me a prescription, I immediately requested “Belgian pot.” This jolly stuff -- a cocktail of amphetamines, heroin and a secret toasted-in sugar frosting -- was seized last week when police in France and Belgium arrested about two dozen people accused of supplying bike racers with “pot Belge.”

“Belgian pot ? Ho-ho, you’re such a kidder,” my doctor said. “By the way, let me give you the phone number for Drug Addicts Anonymous. Just ask for the cycling department.”

Then he handed me a prescription for the garden-variety painkiller Vicodin. I read the label: “Side effects may include nausea, vomiting, constipation, lightheadedness, dizziness….” Sounds like my last interval workout.

Nowhere on this list did I see “ability to instantly drop the loud-mouthed dude with the squeaky chain who’s been sucking your wheel for the last three miles.”

So I’ll have to settle for mere pain relief. Which brings me back to my neck injury. I could have strained it on a 200-mile ride to Mount Thrombosis. Or I could have wrenched it during a handlebar-crushing sprint to win the Tuesday Lunchtime World Championship. I could have, except I never did either of those things.

I hurt my neck while sleeping.

That’s right, I have a sleep injury. Could anything be more embarrassing ? Well, yes. Now every time I submit a column, I’ll probably have to fill a little cup.

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Send your get-well e-mails to scottmartin@roadbikerider.com (unless you prefer him to write under the influence).

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