jeudi, décembre 28


I've always bragged about being a 'hardcore' biker. I bike all year long in Minnesota, the coldest & burliest fucking state ever. Danger be damned, I will bike in all weather. There's a total sense of satisfaction I get from being self-sufficient. If I need to be somewhere then I bike my ass there. But I don't feel a complete sense of belonging to such an elite group of kick-ass people because, well, I don't have to bike very far or on very busy streets as compared to most 'extreme' bikers I know who bike up to a half an hour to get from where the live to where they work. Nevertheless, I'm a biker and you bet your ass I brag about it. But I haven't had all the bragging rights associated with my comrades. For instance I've never gotten in a bike accident, luckily. And yet. I haven't gotten in a bike accident. The bonding of any biker is always 'that one time'....the type of biking accident that is so unbelievable and so horrific that you never want to mount any form of a wheeled anything ever again...but you totally envy how tough and extreme these people are. Yeah they almost died, but instead of complaining they got back on that bike while the wound was still fresh. Yes, these are my people. So I feel as if I'm finally 'growing up' or have reached a sort of 'rite of passage' tonight as I got in my first accident. It wasn't really an accident in the sense that I got hit or was in a crash, but I do have a totally gnarly scar on my knee. It happened as I was biking home from work & was turning a bike skidded out from under me. My front bike tire was flat so I couldn't bike home and had to call my lady savior of the evening, my roommate who DOES NOT drive cars, to come pick me up. And tonight, one night only, she drove. This woman drove on the wings of angels to pick up me. Fear & blood clearly bring out her best qualities. Anyways I feel closer than ever to becoming an official member of this secret society of awesomeness. And now I've got a story to tell about that one time I was trying to beat out a car and then the car swerved and tried to kill me, I swear the driver wanted me dead, and I flew over my handle bars and almost died, but I didn't, I got back on my bike and biked home leaving a trail of blood behind from my awful wounds....or maybe I just had a flat tire and skidded across the road. Details schmetails.

1 commentaire:

Anthony a dit…

Yay! We can be bike-commuter-war-wound-buddies now!

You ought to see the nasty nasty scar on my calf from going over my handle bars when a woman, after apparently looking both ways, pulled out to make a right turn in her gigantic SUV and...well...after all was said and done, she waved me the f*ck across. Talk about insult to injury.

I bled the rest of the bike ride to my apartment, where no amount of peroxide and Vitamin E could spare me from the scar I now hold across my right calf.

Nashville's new slogan (which I just invented): We don't want none of your homosexuals, mexicans, vegetarians or bike riders, y'hear?