An interruption on a bike ride to nowhere

I was sweaty, out of breath and in no mood to have a long theological discussion with a rodeo clown.

But I knew one was coming.

In the Y fitness room, I scanned the bank of TVs for something to relieve the boredom of climbing onto a stationary bike, peddling like mad and going absolutely nowhere in an effort to extend my life by what will probably turn out to be an extra 45 minutes.

Seeing nothing to my liking, I picked out a TV that no one seemed to be paying attention to and grabbed the remote for a run through the channels. But first, out of courtesy, I checked with the gentleman on the treadmill directly below it to make sure he wasn't glancing every now and then at the home shopping channel flickering above his head. Perhaps a glimpse of polished swirl hoop earrings for the low, low price of $62.50 inspired him to go that extra mile, and I didn't want to throw a monkey wrench into his workout routine.

"Excuse me," I said. "Are you watching that TV?"

He turned to me and solemnly shook his head.

"I don't watch TV."

I knew my next line was supposed to be, "You don't watch TV? How strange in this day and time. Please explain to me in great detail, sir, why this is so."

But I was in rush to begin my journey to nowhere and did not want to be sidetracked.

"OK. Thanks."

I flipped the channel to ancient NFL highlights, ghosts of the gridiron pounding each other in the faraway past. I mounted my stationary steed, jammed in the earbuds, dialed up the audio and began my journey.

Twenty minutes in, I was drenched in sweat and Dick Butkus had just crushed the larynx of an unlucky tailback. I picked up the pace, pretending Butkus was chasing me.

Faster. Faster. Must protect larynx.

For all this work, I thought, that extra 45 minutes better be something special.

About that time, as Butkus was closing in, the man who does not watch TV got off the treadmill and walked over.

"Are you the one who asked if I watched TV?"

Technically, no. I asked if he was watching that TV, not TV in general.

"Yes, sir," I said, fearing I had just invited a monkey wrench into my workout routine.

"I don't watch TV. I'm a rodeo clown."

For the record, he did not say rodeo clown.

He said he was a member of a particular religious group, one that eschews many modern conven-iences. Because I don't want to offend anyone who belongs to this particular religious group or any religious group (offended people in some religious groups send really, really long e-mails about eternal damnation while others chop off heads, neither of which is pleasant) I have changed it to the non-offensive "rodeo clown."

"No, I don't watch TV," he repeated. "But I don't have anything against people who do."

Nor, apparently, did he have anything against certain other modern conveniences, such as treadmills. I would have thought a well-worn path would have been more to his liking.

"Yes, I'm a rodeo clown," he said. "I'll be right back and we can talk more about it."

And with that, he walked away, perhaps to retrieve some rodeo clown literature or introduce himself to another sweaty, out-of-breath, TV-watching backslider.

I knew if I didn't skedaddle when I had the chance, I was in for a long theological discussion with a rodeo clown and, as I said, I was sweaty, out of breath and not in the mood.

I jumped off the bike and headed for the door.

I doubt I earned an extra 45 minutes before he whipped out the monkey wrench, but maybe I squeezed another half hour out of it. I'll probably spend it watching TV.

Scott Hollifield is editor/general manager of The McDowell News in Marion, N.C. and a colum-nist for the Media General News Service. Contact him at P.O. Box 610, Marion, N.C. 28752 or e-mail rhollifield@mcdowellnews.com.