Jamie Swan wrote:
"A few years back John Pergolizzi rented a condo in San Deigo for the Winter and one of his neighbors noticed his bikes. The guy turns out to be Paul Durdalleur."
Well, not .......exactly. Here's the whole story:
Back in "ought three", Sally and I decided to spend the winter in San Diego; just to get away from the cold of New York City. On a preliminary reconnaissance trip in October, we found a building that looked good. It was a Sunday and there was no one around and only a number on a "for rent" sign. We were leaving early the next day, so I called upon our return to New York and made arrangements to rent an apartment for about three months; from January to early April of the next year. The key arrived in the mail and soon enough it was time to get away from the coming frigid cold. It was a late arriving flight and by the time we got to the building in La Jolla it must have been close to midnight. I slipped the key into the lock, turned the knob, and was greeted by THE WORST stench of mold ya might ever imagine! Agh no! The maid had changed the sheets and towels, but the joint must have been closed for weeks, at least. It was bad. We opened all the windows and made the best of it for the night. Next day we went in search of a better joint. A few blocks away we found a better apartment, with a bit of a view of the ocean (this all sounds tough, doesn't it? ), went back to joint #1, and loaded our bags and put our bikes (still boxed) on to two shopping center carts and pushed our way through La Jolla. To get the full impact, ya gotta understand this is a kinda fancy schmancy area, palm trees, on the ocean, a bit a high zoot factor. Hoiyty toity. And now we're the local bum couple rolling through town with all of our worldly belongings in carts! Cool! Anywayz, we move the stuff into the apartment up two flights of stairs and all is well with the world. Late afternoon, I go down to throw out some packing and I see the handyman. I ask "Mark" if he has a yellow pages so that we could see what's where. I notice that there is a kinda scraggly looking fella hanging out in the patio area located between the two buildings of the property. I ask, and Handy man Mark reply's "nope", he doesn't have a yellow pages; can't help. O.K. An hour or so later, I go back down to throw out more stuff, and who do I see approaching from the opposite stairs? Yep, the scraggly looking guy. And..... he's carrying a yellow pages in his hand. "Scraggly" see's me and say's "Hi, I was just coming to look for you." Ahhh,.... o.k., the guys a bum .....and he likes guys. Be careful here Johnny. Scraggly goes on to explain how he had over heard my request to handy man Mark for a phone book, and how he, Scraggly, and his wife, live in the opposit building of the complex. And they have a yellow pages that I was more then welcome to. He introduces himself.... Peter Durdaller. Peter DURDALLER! Hummm.....my gears start churning! How many a these Durdaller's could ther be? Well, stick with me on this: about a year before this encounter, a good buddy a mine, "The Beast", happened to strike up a conversation with another train passenger while riding the Long Island Rail Road to work one evening. Beast is a former National class bicycle racer and is now a baker. Beast works at night so everyone in Hewlett, Long Island can have fresh bread the next day. Turns out that the other passenger is also a former bicycle racer and has a nice black Frejus road bike from the old days and he might be interested in selling her. Can youse see where all this is leading? Of course The Beast tells me, gives me the guys number, and appropriate arrangements were made. I contact the guy, take the train out to Long Island and see the bike. She is a nice 21 inch or so 1960's Frejus Campionato del Mondo, top o de line! The fella introduces himself to me; he's Paul Durdaller. The bike had been won years ago in some race. And he, his brother and his sister had all used it. A price was agreed upon and I went home with her. Even rode her from Penn Station about a mile back home in mid town Manhattan! Little black Frejus was destined, ever since I first heard of her existence, for the clutches of "Frejus John". This guy is the black hole of the mark from Torino, Italy ; he buys um ALL, but NEVER sells a thing. A good profit was banked and all was right with the World again. Fast forward a year later:
Remember the guys with the yellow pages now standing in front of me, Peter ? I realize this has GOTTA be Long Island Paul Durdaller's brother. It's just gotta be. BUT, rather that state the obvious, I decided to have some fun. So, I says " So, ahh..., tell me,...ahh...., that little black Frejus Road Bike,....ahhh,... was that your's, your brothers or your sister's?" Peter's head starts to tilt a bit sideways, kinda like a German Shepard's when the dog hears what we can't. Peter's eyes then narrow to a sharp squint and his ears perk up. What is he getting ready for a sprint? Well, to keep a long story short (HA!), Peter and his wife Shira are here in San Diego and his mom, JoAnn ( who terrorized many a rider) is in Florida. Say hello to her for me.
John T.Pergolizzi La Jolla
I can't make this stuff up, it's way too complicated.