By Fujimoto Masaaki
  

  The past two seasons have been a blur. It's a strange thing, that professional cyclists and those who have once rode professionally still order their lives around the cycling calendar.
  
  I'm one of the lucky ones though, I still have a contract, I'm still in the game. But it was pretty close.
  
  Where have I been all this time while my column was on hiatus, I hear you ask. Well readers, the official reason from team officials (haha twice in a sentence, I'm a hoot) was that I was horribly maimed fighting off an alligator in a heroic stand while on a team bonding exercise in South Africa. The not so official reason simply put, was that I was in rehab.
  
  It's a horrible thing, drink addiction. It eats away at your soul, makes you doubt yourself, doubt your abilities, doubt those close to you. It's a pretty bleak place to be and I tell you, even ritual suicide seems a viable option at some point. Waking up to my guts on the floor and a bloody knife in my hand, I wouldn't have been surprised at that point.
  
  So once it became apparent that I wasn't going to pull myself together and kick the habit on my own, the team shoved me into this rehab centre (which I shan't name else they sue my white pimply ass and of course I won't be able to afford it because I'm still earning

peanuts) and left me to stew. It took awhile but I finally woke up one day and felt like a new man. I know it's such a cliche, but honestly it's true. You do feel reborn. I knew the nightmares weren't coming back anytime soon.
  
  The team were pretty supportive when I got back. It was great knowing these guys were behind me one hundred percent, even if that heroic saving their lives from the man-eating alligator bit wasn't really true. It was good to be back with my teammates, although my first day back, they torched my Honda. Such is life. It was on it's last legs anyway.
  
  Team boss Wojciu summoned me to his office for a meeting. He's a self made man, Mr. Wojciu. A billionaire at 22, he made his fortune in the illegal trade of mutated poultry. It supplies the insatiable demand for gargantuam chicken wings over in America, a real money spinner. I gather that the cycling team is more of a side project for Mr. Wojciu, plus I hear it's also for tax purposes and a great way to launder dirty money.
  
  But I digress.
  
  Mr. Wojciu motioned me to a chair and welcomed me back to the team, "So how are you feeling, Fujimoto?"
  
  "I'm good thanks. It's great to be back. The guys gave me a really warm welcome."
  
  The pun was not lost on him. I swear the guy knows everything.
  
  "I'm happy that you're back in top form. It

was great for the team of course, the best publicity ever. Us helping a poor downed rider after his heroic stance to save his teammates. Made a splash in the tabloids I assure you. Oh and before I forget, you'll have to wear this bandage on your head for the forseeable future. Our publicity guy got a little carried away, so it came out that the alligator took a huge chunk out of your noggin'."
  
  "Whaaaaa?"
  
  Apart from that, it was all pretty much standard fare. Mr. Wojciu assured me that I still had a place on the team and that I would be slowly introduced back to top level cycling. But there was one last surprise left in store for me as I was leaving.
  
  "By the way, we've sold part of your contract."
  
  I was speechless for a moment before spluttering, "You mean I've got to ride for some other team too?"
  
  Incredulous doesn't even cut it.
  
  "Oh no, of course not. That would be silly. We've sold it to that Chinese eatery down the street. You'll have to report in to Mr Chang's once a week and do the dishes. In return, they've agreed to provide takeway for our once a week in-house orgies. Great deal, no?"
  
  So that was two weeks ago. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get the stink of chow mein or kungpao chicken out of my hair. But I don't really care to be honest. It's great to be back in the saddle.