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DECEMBER 2013
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TRIATHLON CLUB OF SAN DIEGO
DECEMBER CLUB MEETING Thursday December 12th Featuring Taylor Phinney Schedule: 5pm Food/Social 6pm Announcements/Raffle 7pm Interview with Taylor Location: Function Smart 10803 Vista Sorrento Parkway, Suite 100 San Diego, CA 92121
Refer to the Club’s website for complete/updated information.
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Board Members Weekly Workout Calendar New Members TCSD On The Podium
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TCSD Conversation Member Profile Question of the Month
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TriNews
the arraignment, the prosecutor presented circumstantial evidence of kidnapping, extortion, and a laundry list of other crimes I supposedly committed on the late summer day while I endured my solo triathlon. It was a A Tale of Fiction long-distance course, and my endeavor had taken me most of the day. The only crime I knew about was somebody swiped two water bottles filled with energy drink I had placed in the shade under my pickup in the parking lot. Security cameras at the crime scene had captured frames of what looked like my dark green pickup with its white camper shell and a front quarter panel painted primer gray. I had taken the truck across the border to Tijuana several months earlier where some guys on the street straightened the fender and primed it for a cheap price. I paid them cash and had no receipt for the work. Now the D.A. claimed I was working in collusion with a local body shop to launder money. I would have laughed at the absurdity of the charges if I hadn’t been standing before the judge who determined there was sufficient evidence to try me.
“Mr. Handen, do you have evidence you participated in this triathlon?” the judge asked. “Do you have witnesses for where you were at eleven AM that Saturday?” Scores of surfers must have seen me at seven AM when I dove through the waves for a one-hour swim, but I didn’t know them. After shucking off my wetsuit, I d r o v e about two miles to a parking lot popular with both By Barbara Javor cyclists and runners. It bordered roads and trails that were well-used by recreational athletes. I had passed hundreds of cars on the coast highway where I rode my bike for nearly eighty miles, and scores of runners and walkers where I ran over sixteen miles. I didn’t pass anyone I knew, and I doubt if anyone recognized me. I had no witnesses to back up my alibi. How could my pickup have been anywhere else besides that parking lot? After the arraignment I was free on bail and frustrated with the whole legal system—my attorney for not digging up a single witness, and the D.A. and police for not finding the real criminals. I decided to replay the events of that continued on page 20