It was Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday was the day of the week Biker Teacher rode his mountain bike with Rat and Big Brother. They rode a seven mile road loop that passed behind a hotel and an airport. This is how they exercised and socialized amongst themselves.
It started off like any other day. Biker Teacher stretched before the ride. Big Brother and Rat chose not to. Biker Teacher suspected that they were too homophobic to bend at the waist to touch their toes. Once properly stretched, the trio geared up for the ride. Rat always wore a full-face motorcross helmet. It made him look like the hooligan he was. Biker Teacher and Big Brother wore their cyclist helmets that made their heads appear like larger versions of their smaller heads. With their melons properly encased in impact absorbing form, they set off on the ride.
Bicycle riding is a very good form of cardiovascular exercise. The constant effort on your large muscle groups is good for fat-burning and a stronger heart. The addition of gossiping, bullshitting, and one-up-manship doubles the effectiveness of the exercise.
"You guys coming out to the drag races this month?" asked Rat.
"Is the blonde going to be there?" asked Biker Teacher.
"Probably not. I'm over her," was the reply.
"Um, you had one date," Big Brother pointed out.
"Yeah. But she had her chance."
And they all laughed.
Most of their conversations went like that. They loved to kid each other about their non-existent love lives. Either that, or they tried to convince each other that perhaps an alternative lifestyle would be more to their liking.
"You're gay."
"No. YOU gay."
"Nah. YOU gay," ad nauseam.
Every now and then they would get lucky and cross paths with a well toned female jogger. Pure serendipity. Which is why whenever they passed one, they would immediately hush and ride while looking straight ahead for fear of getting caught looking.
It just so happened that on this particular Wednesday, they spotted a very firm XX chromosome on the road. As they approached from the rear, they noticed her rear. It was one that you could literally bounce quarters off of. Lycra running shorts, normally unkind, was very flattering on this wonderfully shaped woman. The trio rode past in their normal silent running mode. Big Brother was lucky enough to glance back at just the right moment. He got to watch Jogger Lady tend to her desert-beast-of-burden-foot-appendage. The trio looked at each other. Upraised thumbs were shown with nods of approval. Then the ride continued.
Biker Teacher had been debating on buying a new mountain bike. His current bike, a Haro X6, was a good entry bike, but now that he had more experience, he needed something that matched his riding style. Biker Teacher preferred to ride with the wheels on the ground. The Haro X6 preferred to ride with Biker Teacher on the ground.
"Maybe I could just get a frame and throw all these parts on it," said Biker Teacher.
"Well, you already got a good fork and new Saint cranks," said Big Brother, "in fact, the cranks came in a really nice box too."
"What about Girl-Friend's box?" asked Rat.
They all laughed.
Rat continued, "you know what though? I'm over women."
"Until the next one calls you, right?" asked Biker Teacher.
"Right. Because I'll just keep going back for more," Rat replied. And they rode on.
There is an old, abandoned shopping mall along the bike route. It was originally filled with classy stores with exorbitant prices designed to entice foreigners to open their wallets. That was before an act of God wrecked the place. Now it's a little freeride playground for Rat. Biker Teacher and Big Brother stopped at the mall to take a break while Rat played. Jogger Lady caught up and ran past.
"I remember who she is. She's your classmate's older sister," Big Brother said to Biker Teacher.
"No shit?" Biker Teacher rode off to catch Jogger Lady. Once he caught up to her he called out.
"Hey. You remember me? I'm Chad's classmate."
"Oh hey. Yeah, I do remember you. How you doing?" Jogger Lady asked while still running.
Biker Teacher kept pace. "I'm fine. From the looks of things, you're real fine too."
Jogger Lady smiled. She seemed happy hearing the compliment.
"I haven't seen you before. You jog here regularly?" queried Biker Teacher.
"I used to jog around the stadium, but this route is more interesting."
"Sweet. You know, this is odd. I'm the type of guy who can approach and talk to ugly chicks, but I get tongue tied around beautiful women," he said.
"And?" she asked.
"And? Nothing really. Just stating a simple fact that I seem to be able to approach and talk to you," he replied.
"I see." The happiness had left her.
"I'm glad you're jogging. It's great. I thought I was looking at a 25 year old. It wasn't until I saw your face that I realized you were 39," said Biker Teacher.
"I'm 36, ass," mutter Jogger Lady.
"Yeah, that's right. You were always older than me."
Jogger Lady stopped. "You know what? I'm going to stop talking now and continue running. You don't have to follow me. Have a nice life." And she ran off without delay.
Biker Teacher stood there feeling dejected for a minute. Then he shrugged and rode back to the mall. Big Brother and Rat were waiting for him.
"So, did she touch your penis?" Rat had been quoting Harold and Kumar that week.
"Man, I am so over her," announced Biker Teacher.
"Until she calls," said Big Brother.
"Yeah, because I just keep going back for more," said Biker Teacher.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I'm Not On Strike
I do have a story to write, however, I don't have the time to write it right now. I'm a union rep and we have a contract that needs to be ratified this week. That's killing my time and creativity.
I love teaching. It's a wonderful feeling when kids learn something new from you. However, the State of Hawaii tries its best to make teachers committed. To the funny farm.
If your name is Alison and you're reading this: Hi. I'm as clueless as Biker Teacher, but only half as rude.
I love teaching. It's a wonderful feeling when kids learn something new from you. However, the State of Hawaii tries its best to make teachers committed. To the funny farm.
If your name is Alison and you're reading this: Hi. I'm as clueless as Biker Teacher, but only half as rude.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
English 101
Today was the day Girl-Friend's research project was due. Just so you know, Girl-Friend wasn't Biker Teacher's girlfriend. Instead, she was friend who happened to be female. Now if that teenager description doesn't explain the situation, Girl-Friend and Biker Teacher had a platonic relationship. Which means, although Biker Teacher found Girl-Friend attractive, he stood no chance of getting any play because he looked like Thurlug the Orc.
Although Biker Teacher had long since graduated from college, and even completed an extra bout of accredited lobotomies, he was there at the school. He had a vested interest in Girl-Friend's research project. He had spent the week editing her paperwork. It was important for him to see if his expository writing skills were still butterknife sharp.
And he also saw a picture of Research Partner. Rawr!
Research Partner was a petite, lightly tanned, young Asian woman. She had a nice smile, and brown hair, which was a result of a stylish bleaching. But most importantly, she was single.
Biker Teacher skipped over to meet Girl-Friend in the college library. Normally men don't skip. However, since he possessed a college degree, and the other lesser male college students didn't, he felt it ok to be a little whimsical.
"How did it go?" he asked, with a slight pant.
"Not sure yet," was the reply. "But our professor is the type to lower your grade if the formatting is off."
Biker Teacher rubbed his scruffy, scarred chin. "Ah yes. I had professors like that before. They were called 'bitches.'"
Girl-Friend chuckled, then her attention was drawn elsewhere. "There's Research Partner. She's coming over."
An Asian goddess appeared before Biker Teacher. His mind fumbled with words. Do he prostate himself? Prostate? He wondered why he thought of the little rectal walnut instead of prostrate.
"What is he doing?" Research Partner inquired.
"Don't worry. He does that when he's lost in thought. Hey, Biker Teacher. Wake up."
Biker Teacher's mind still raced with a million things to say. He finally settled on being romantic, which, to those on the receiving end, could be fatal.
Biker Teacher assumed his best Rico Suave look and managed to utter a string of mangled thoughts. "So you must be Research Partner. Girl-Friend told me about you. But I can see now that she grossly over-stated your beauty."
"Excuse me?" Research Partner furrowed her brow.
"That means you're pretty. Maybe you should take some English classes. It might help you. And if you get stuck with the larger words, I can help out," Biker Teacher was eager to offer his services.
It was at this point that Girl-Friend tried to use her powers of invisibility for selfish reasons. She camouflaged herself as best she could next to the bulletin board covered with ads. She knew better than to associate herself with Biker Teacher once he gets on a roll.
Research Girl turned away from Biker Teacher and faced the translucent Girl-Friend. "I have our project board done and was about to..."
"I heard you were single and desperate. Want to get a coffee?" Biker Teacher interrupted.
Research Partner took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and rolled her eyes. Her lightly tanned complexion took on a reddish hue.
He continued unabated, "I heard you're a single parent. That must be tough. Mr. Esquire says I would make a good father."
"Oh really now," said Research Partner with obvious disbelief.
Girl-Friend was using her 14th level Hide in Shadows skill and was just a few yards from the exit now.
"Yes," Biker Teacher stated boldly, "in fact, Mr. Esquire said I should do my utmost to give your kid a baby brother or sister."
Girl-Friend slipped out the door unnoticed.
Research Partner clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She spoke through her teeth as she scowled. "Look, I don't know who you are..."
"Biker Teacher."
"Or where you came from..."
"The westside."
"Or what you're doing here..."
"Trying to get a date with you."
"But it will be a cold day in Hell when I go out on a date with you!" She stomped her foot, punched the bulletin board, and kicked open the door as she stormed out.
Biker Teacher skipped out of the library. He found Girl-Friend waiting just outside. She seemed confused by the look of victory on his face. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"I've got a date for winter solstice."
Although Biker Teacher had long since graduated from college, and even completed an extra bout of accredited lobotomies, he was there at the school. He had a vested interest in Girl-Friend's research project. He had spent the week editing her paperwork. It was important for him to see if his expository writing skills were still butterknife sharp.
And he also saw a picture of Research Partner. Rawr!
Research Partner was a petite, lightly tanned, young Asian woman. She had a nice smile, and brown hair, which was a result of a stylish bleaching. But most importantly, she was single.
Biker Teacher skipped over to meet Girl-Friend in the college library. Normally men don't skip. However, since he possessed a college degree, and the other lesser male college students didn't, he felt it ok to be a little whimsical.
"How did it go?" he asked, with a slight pant.
"Not sure yet," was the reply. "But our professor is the type to lower your grade if the formatting is off."
Biker Teacher rubbed his scruffy, scarred chin. "Ah yes. I had professors like that before. They were called 'bitches.'"
Girl-Friend chuckled, then her attention was drawn elsewhere. "There's Research Partner. She's coming over."
An Asian goddess appeared before Biker Teacher. His mind fumbled with words. Do he prostate himself? Prostate? He wondered why he thought of the little rectal walnut instead of prostrate.
"What is he doing?" Research Partner inquired.
"Don't worry. He does that when he's lost in thought. Hey, Biker Teacher. Wake up."
Biker Teacher's mind still raced with a million things to say. He finally settled on being romantic, which, to those on the receiving end, could be fatal.
Biker Teacher assumed his best Rico Suave look and managed to utter a string of mangled thoughts. "So you must be Research Partner. Girl-Friend told me about you. But I can see now that she grossly over-stated your beauty."
"Excuse me?" Research Partner furrowed her brow.
"That means you're pretty. Maybe you should take some English classes. It might help you. And if you get stuck with the larger words, I can help out," Biker Teacher was eager to offer his services.
It was at this point that Girl-Friend tried to use her powers of invisibility for selfish reasons. She camouflaged herself as best she could next to the bulletin board covered with ads. She knew better than to associate herself with Biker Teacher once he gets on a roll.
Research Girl turned away from Biker Teacher and faced the translucent Girl-Friend. "I have our project board done and was about to..."
"I heard you were single and desperate. Want to get a coffee?" Biker Teacher interrupted.
Research Partner took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and rolled her eyes. Her lightly tanned complexion took on a reddish hue.
He continued unabated, "I heard you're a single parent. That must be tough. Mr. Esquire says I would make a good father."
"Oh really now," said Research Partner with obvious disbelief.
Girl-Friend was using her 14th level Hide in Shadows skill and was just a few yards from the exit now.
"Yes," Biker Teacher stated boldly, "in fact, Mr. Esquire said I should do my utmost to give your kid a baby brother or sister."
Girl-Friend slipped out the door unnoticed.
Research Partner clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She spoke through her teeth as she scowled. "Look, I don't know who you are..."
"Biker Teacher."
"Or where you came from..."
"The westside."
"Or what you're doing here..."
"Trying to get a date with you."
"But it will be a cold day in Hell when I go out on a date with you!" She stomped her foot, punched the bulletin board, and kicked open the door as she stormed out.
Biker Teacher skipped out of the library. He found Girl-Friend waiting just outside. She seemed confused by the look of victory on his face. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"I've got a date for winter solstice."
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Sun Tzu's Art of Conversation
The Biker Teacher walked into Margins, the large discount books and music store. He was an average guy, but always felt more of a square peg in a round world. He liked to think he and Harrison Bergeron had a lot in common, except for the scrap metal. And the ear radio. And the spectacles. And the red rubber ball. Actually, Biker Teacher realized he didn't have much in common with Harrison Bergeron except that they both seem stuck in some surreal world of someone else's creation. Biker Teacher stopped thinking about it when a loud buzzer sounded in his head.
Once inside, the Biker Teacher surveyed the area. He carefully studied each book monger he saw. He was there specifically to look for one particular monger. Panning his view from right to left, the Biker Teacher searched for his prey. Aha, he spotted her.
Pierced Girl had her shoulder-length raven hair in two ponytails. She wore a black dress which seemed to be systematically torn vertically along the hem. She had a pierce brow and a lip ring. Biker Teacher wondered if perhaps she got her fashion cues from the movie Beetlejuice.
Now Biker Teacher is known for his wit and charm. However, he suffers from chronic shyness. He was diagnosed with this affliction after he realized that he resembled Goofy more than Mickey. So although he could think of a million things to say at any given point in time, he could never bring himself to actually say anything. That is, until today.
Biker Teacher's friend, Mr. Esquire, had given him several tips on the art of conversation. Mr. Esquire is a successful attorney. As everyone knows, attorneys need to be able to blow a lot of hot air in order to survive. That's because once they pass the bar, they sell their souls to Satan, and the empty cavity that used to house their souls now house fire and brimstone. If the attorney was not able to expel the heat of hades, they would suffer a core melt down much like Chernobyl.
Biker Teacher chuckled to himself, then realized he looked like a fool laughing to himself, so he soldiered on. He approached the lovely Pierced Girl and attempted to start a dialog.
"Hi. I just recently learned how to read. I've managed to get through several of Dr. Seuss's books and now I'm looking for something meatier. A friend suggested something by Terry Hatchet. Or Lachet. Was it Matchet?"
"Pratchett," Pierced Girl corrected.
"Yes, Pratchett. That's the ticket." Biker Teacher really did know it was Pratchett. He just feigned stupidity for the sake of starting a conversation. "Can you show me where his books are?" Biker Teacher asked.
"Sure. Follow me," Pierced Girl said as she gestured Biker Teacher to follow by curling a single digit. He noticed that the single digit was not only clean and well manicured, but it had an appealing set of proportions. Then he wondered why he was so fascinated by a finger. "Here they are," Pierced Girl pointed to a selection of books on a shelf at shoulder height. She really did have a lovely finger.
"Thank you. Now this may sound a bit forward, but I figure sometimes you need to take a chance. If that there cash register prints out a coupon for the Starbucks, could I buy you a coffee?"
"And what if it doesn't print out a coupon?" Pierced Girl giggled.
"Um, juice ok?"
Pierced girl let out a laugh and a half snort. She caught herself just before she fully snorted. "It's about time for my break anyway. I'll meet you at the Starbucks in five minutes. Get me something strong."
The coupon read: Take 30% off your next purchase of Folk Music CDs. The Biker Teacher didn't care. He was way too elated. The fat-guy-with-curly-hair could have rung him up for an entire encyclopedia set and the Biker Teacher wouldn't have noticed. He waltzed over to the next door Starbucks. He literally waltzed. Well, not so much a waltz, but an attempt at something resembling a dance. Biker Teacher was absent the day they taught grace.
A few minutes went by and the Pierced Girl arrived and sat next to him. He handed her a Latte. He had a fruit smoothie for himself. He was concerned about staining his teeth.
Now the pressure was on for the Biker Teacher. He managed to get the Pierced Girl to have coffee with him, but now he has to make a good impression in a short amount of time. He remembered Mr. Esquire's suggestion about looking for her choices on a Staff Picks.
"I didn't see any books under your name on the Staff Picks list," said the Biker Teacher.
"Oh. I didn't list any books. I did list a few CDs I like," replied the Pierced Girl.
"Ah. I've been meaning to expand my music library. What did you pick? Maybe I could buy it."
"AFI"
The Biker Teacher heard of this band before. "Aren't they a punk rock band? Why do you listen to crap like that?"
And there was a moment of silence. Biker Teacher realized he said something inappropriate, but he wasn't sure what. He thought back to something else that Mr. Esquire suggested. Mr. Esquire noted that females like to talk about themselves. It would be a good idea to get the topic of conversation focused on the girl, and to let her talk. This was a good idea. If Pierced Girl was doing the talking, and Biker Teacher tried his best to look interested, there should be little chance for more Hoof-in-Mouth disease. The Biker Teacher tried again.
"Errr, ummm. I've been meaning to ask, what ethnicity are you? I mean, you're very pretty, and I'm curious as to where you got that rather large nose of yours."
Pierced Girl seemed taken aback. Her body stiffened as she shifted away from the table. She seemed agitated. Biker Teacher was starting to worry. How could the conversation be going all wrong? Didn't he get good advice from Mr. Esquire? Wait a tick. Mr. Esquire mentioned that since Pierced Girl has piercings, she may have tattoos, and that could lead to more conversation.
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Please forget what I said. I love your piercings, by the way. Normally I think they look disgusting, but on you, they look great. You wouldn't happen to have any tattoos? Perhaps a small one on your inner thigh? Or even a bitch patch on your back?"
The corners of Pierced Girl's mouth turned south as she scowled. Biker Teacher is good at reading people. He noticed that something was bothering the girl. Perhaps Pierced Girl had a really ugly tattoo, and it embarrasses her to talk about it. What ever the reason though, Biker Teacher was worried. The conversation was taking a turn for the worse. Luckily he remembered Mr. Esquire's last bit of advice. A brilliant conversationalist would be able to keep everyone in the conversation. If someone was being left out, a simple question would help to bring them back in.
The Biker Teacher looked at the old man sitting on the next table. "Hey you! What the hell you looking at?" The old man looked frightened and confused. Pierced Girl's lower jaw hit the floor.
Mr. Esquire's advice failed to work. "Stupid Mr. Esquire, and stupid advice," Biker Teacher thought to himself.
"I have to get back to work," Pierced Girl declared and she hurried to gather her things.
"Would it be ok if I asked you out for coffee again some time?" asked the Biker Teacher.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I'm in the yellow-pages," Pierced Girl's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Luckily the Biker Teacher was also absent the day they taught sarcasm. He sprang to his feet, pumped his fist, and shouted, "Yes!" Then he pranced to the door filled with amore.
Once inside, the Biker Teacher surveyed the area. He carefully studied each book monger he saw. He was there specifically to look for one particular monger. Panning his view from right to left, the Biker Teacher searched for his prey. Aha, he spotted her.
Pierced Girl had her shoulder-length raven hair in two ponytails. She wore a black dress which seemed to be systematically torn vertically along the hem. She had a pierce brow and a lip ring. Biker Teacher wondered if perhaps she got her fashion cues from the movie Beetlejuice.
Now Biker Teacher is known for his wit and charm. However, he suffers from chronic shyness. He was diagnosed with this affliction after he realized that he resembled Goofy more than Mickey. So although he could think of a million things to say at any given point in time, he could never bring himself to actually say anything. That is, until today.
Biker Teacher's friend, Mr. Esquire, had given him several tips on the art of conversation. Mr. Esquire is a successful attorney. As everyone knows, attorneys need to be able to blow a lot of hot air in order to survive. That's because once they pass the bar, they sell their souls to Satan, and the empty cavity that used to house their souls now house fire and brimstone. If the attorney was not able to expel the heat of hades, they would suffer a core melt down much like Chernobyl.
Biker Teacher chuckled to himself, then realized he looked like a fool laughing to himself, so he soldiered on. He approached the lovely Pierced Girl and attempted to start a dialog.
"Hi. I just recently learned how to read. I've managed to get through several of Dr. Seuss's books and now I'm looking for something meatier. A friend suggested something by Terry Hatchet. Or Lachet. Was it Matchet?"
"Pratchett," Pierced Girl corrected.
"Yes, Pratchett. That's the ticket." Biker Teacher really did know it was Pratchett. He just feigned stupidity for the sake of starting a conversation. "Can you show me where his books are?" Biker Teacher asked.
"Sure. Follow me," Pierced Girl said as she gestured Biker Teacher to follow by curling a single digit. He noticed that the single digit was not only clean and well manicured, but it had an appealing set of proportions. Then he wondered why he was so fascinated by a finger. "Here they are," Pierced Girl pointed to a selection of books on a shelf at shoulder height. She really did have a lovely finger.
"Thank you. Now this may sound a bit forward, but I figure sometimes you need to take a chance. If that there cash register prints out a coupon for the Starbucks, could I buy you a coffee?"
"And what if it doesn't print out a coupon?" Pierced Girl giggled.
"Um, juice ok?"
Pierced girl let out a laugh and a half snort. She caught herself just before she fully snorted. "It's about time for my break anyway. I'll meet you at the Starbucks in five minutes. Get me something strong."
The coupon read: Take 30% off your next purchase of Folk Music CDs. The Biker Teacher didn't care. He was way too elated. The fat-guy-with-curly-hair could have rung him up for an entire encyclopedia set and the Biker Teacher wouldn't have noticed. He waltzed over to the next door Starbucks. He literally waltzed. Well, not so much a waltz, but an attempt at something resembling a dance. Biker Teacher was absent the day they taught grace.
A few minutes went by and the Pierced Girl arrived and sat next to him. He handed her a Latte. He had a fruit smoothie for himself. He was concerned about staining his teeth.
Now the pressure was on for the Biker Teacher. He managed to get the Pierced Girl to have coffee with him, but now he has to make a good impression in a short amount of time. He remembered Mr. Esquire's suggestion about looking for her choices on a Staff Picks.
"I didn't see any books under your name on the Staff Picks list," said the Biker Teacher.
"Oh. I didn't list any books. I did list a few CDs I like," replied the Pierced Girl.
"Ah. I've been meaning to expand my music library. What did you pick? Maybe I could buy it."
"AFI"
The Biker Teacher heard of this band before. "Aren't they a punk rock band? Why do you listen to crap like that?"
And there was a moment of silence. Biker Teacher realized he said something inappropriate, but he wasn't sure what. He thought back to something else that Mr. Esquire suggested. Mr. Esquire noted that females like to talk about themselves. It would be a good idea to get the topic of conversation focused on the girl, and to let her talk. This was a good idea. If Pierced Girl was doing the talking, and Biker Teacher tried his best to look interested, there should be little chance for more Hoof-in-Mouth disease. The Biker Teacher tried again.
"Errr, ummm. I've been meaning to ask, what ethnicity are you? I mean, you're very pretty, and I'm curious as to where you got that rather large nose of yours."
Pierced Girl seemed taken aback. Her body stiffened as she shifted away from the table. She seemed agitated. Biker Teacher was starting to worry. How could the conversation be going all wrong? Didn't he get good advice from Mr. Esquire? Wait a tick. Mr. Esquire mentioned that since Pierced Girl has piercings, she may have tattoos, and that could lead to more conversation.
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Please forget what I said. I love your piercings, by the way. Normally I think they look disgusting, but on you, they look great. You wouldn't happen to have any tattoos? Perhaps a small one on your inner thigh? Or even a bitch patch on your back?"
The corners of Pierced Girl's mouth turned south as she scowled. Biker Teacher is good at reading people. He noticed that something was bothering the girl. Perhaps Pierced Girl had a really ugly tattoo, and it embarrasses her to talk about it. What ever the reason though, Biker Teacher was worried. The conversation was taking a turn for the worse. Luckily he remembered Mr. Esquire's last bit of advice. A brilliant conversationalist would be able to keep everyone in the conversation. If someone was being left out, a simple question would help to bring them back in.
The Biker Teacher looked at the old man sitting on the next table. "Hey you! What the hell you looking at?" The old man looked frightened and confused. Pierced Girl's lower jaw hit the floor.
Mr. Esquire's advice failed to work. "Stupid Mr. Esquire, and stupid advice," Biker Teacher thought to himself.
"I have to get back to work," Pierced Girl declared and she hurried to gather her things.
"Would it be ok if I asked you out for coffee again some time?" asked the Biker Teacher.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I'm in the yellow-pages," Pierced Girl's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Luckily the Biker Teacher was also absent the day they taught sarcasm. He sprang to his feet, pumped his fist, and shouted, "Yes!" Then he pranced to the door filled with amore.
Monday, April 2, 2007
More Than the Ego
I swear, I must be one of the clumsiest mountain bike riders ever. Besides the numerous scratches and bruises, I've also managed to knock myself unconscious and got myself a trip to the ER. And this weekend I got to add yet another injury to the list.
It all started on Friday. Riley called me and asked if I could bring a truck over to pick up my bike. He normally transports our bikes himself since they're stored at his workplace. This time though, his friend was supposed to come with us on Saturday, which meant he needed to transport an extra bike.
His friend didn't show on Saturday. He showed up at my house with both of his Gary Fisher Kingfisher 2 freeride/downhill bikes. He told me to leave my Haro X6 at home and to ride one of his bikes.
The Kingfisher 2 has a suggested retail of over $2000. The one he let me ride had a $1300 Fox 40R fork on it.
Now Riley is a bit... um... tight. And anal. While the words "tight" and "anal" would have me giggling like a school girl, I was a bit apprehensive. I am known for crashing on the trails, and the thought of crashing this expensive bike had me worried. If I put a scratch on the bike, I wouldn't hear the end of it.
Luckily, most of the day went well. Even this one particular section that causes me grief was easily handled with the freeride bike. Things felt good.
Then on our second run of the day it happened. I crashed. I was following the same path as normal and did nothing out of the ordinary. I did not lock up the brakes. In fact, I had both hands off the brake levers. The front wheel did not lock up in a rut, nor did it wash out. The wheels did not lose traction and slide out. It just felt like something grabbed the back wheel and pulled the bike out from under me.
So the bike stopped forward momentum, while my body continued on. I know the bike stopped because when I got up, it was right where I left it. I don't think it suffered any damage since Riley did not call me. He wouldn't miss a new ding.
My body didn't fare so well.
As I felt the body leaving the bike, I swore to myself, then looked at my landing zone. I was going to land on some left over stumps from some cut down shrubs. The stumps looked like pungee sticks. I thought, "this is going to rip me open." Fortunately it didn't.
I got up and dusted myself off. I stuck a gloved hand under my jersey to check for blood. There was none, so I turned to see what caused my fall. The only thing different on the trail from before was a couple of three foot long, freshly cut branches. They were laying next to the rear tire of the bike. My best guess is that I may have gotten those branches stuck in the wheels.
Later that night I realized the injury was a lot larger. I added in the parts that you couldn't see in the picture.
To add insult to injury, my brother and I headed into town to return our bikes. We stopped by Borders Books to pick up some magazines.
Remember that pretty girl with the piercings? She was there again.
Yup yup. Macho Nonwheezer could only manage to watch her work and couldn't work up the courage to talk to her. Rawr! I'm a kitten in a lion's world.
It all started on Friday. Riley called me and asked if I could bring a truck over to pick up my bike. He normally transports our bikes himself since they're stored at his workplace. This time though, his friend was supposed to come with us on Saturday, which meant he needed to transport an extra bike.
His friend didn't show on Saturday. He showed up at my house with both of his Gary Fisher Kingfisher 2 freeride/downhill bikes. He told me to leave my Haro X6 at home and to ride one of his bikes.
The Kingfisher 2 has a suggested retail of over $2000. The one he let me ride had a $1300 Fox 40R fork on it.
Now Riley is a bit... um... tight. And anal. While the words "tight" and "anal" would have me giggling like a school girl, I was a bit apprehensive. I am known for crashing on the trails, and the thought of crashing this expensive bike had me worried. If I put a scratch on the bike, I wouldn't hear the end of it.
Luckily, most of the day went well. Even this one particular section that causes me grief was easily handled with the freeride bike. Things felt good.
Then on our second run of the day it happened. I crashed. I was following the same path as normal and did nothing out of the ordinary. I did not lock up the brakes. In fact, I had both hands off the brake levers. The front wheel did not lock up in a rut, nor did it wash out. The wheels did not lose traction and slide out. It just felt like something grabbed the back wheel and pulled the bike out from under me.
So the bike stopped forward momentum, while my body continued on. I know the bike stopped because when I got up, it was right where I left it. I don't think it suffered any damage since Riley did not call me. He wouldn't miss a new ding.
My body didn't fare so well.
As I felt the body leaving the bike, I swore to myself, then looked at my landing zone. I was going to land on some left over stumps from some cut down shrubs. The stumps looked like pungee sticks. I thought, "this is going to rip me open." Fortunately it didn't.
I got up and dusted myself off. I stuck a gloved hand under my jersey to check for blood. There was none, so I turned to see what caused my fall. The only thing different on the trail from before was a couple of three foot long, freshly cut branches. They were laying next to the rear tire of the bike. My best guess is that I may have gotten those branches stuck in the wheels.
Later that night I realized the injury was a lot larger. I added in the parts that you couldn't see in the picture.
To add insult to injury, my brother and I headed into town to return our bikes. We stopped by Borders Books to pick up some magazines.
Remember that pretty girl with the piercings? She was there again.
Yup yup. Macho Nonwheezer could only manage to watch her work and couldn't work up the courage to talk to her. Rawr! I'm a kitten in a lion's world.
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