Verbal Abuse

So, for the second time this year, somebody yelled at me from a car while I was riding my bike home from work. The first time was very predictable. Some kids driving an old, beat up Pontiac passed me going the opposite direction. One of them leaned out the window and yelled "FAGGOT!!" I was very disappointed. I mean, come on! That's some of the laziest name calling I've ever heard. No class, no panache, no originality. I don't mind being called names by dumb kids, that's what they do. I just wish they would add some flair to their insults. Maybe next time, try yelling "

But yesterday was much stranger. Some dude in his mid-to-late 20s leaned out of the passenger window of a Dodge Charger and yelled "Nice helmet, Lance!" My feelings were not hurt, but I was confused. I assume he was being sarcastic because if there is one person on earth who doesn't look like Lance Armstrong it's, well it's this guy..


But next to that dude, it's gotta be me.

And why did he choose to mention my helmet? I palp a very normal/cheap helmet. It's just a Giro Indicator in the black colorway, like this one.


If I were wearing this thing, I could see him mocking me. I would mock me.




But I'm pretty sure I look pretty normal. True, I do have a road bike and so does Mr. Armstrong. But I don't wear lycra, I don't wear bibshorts, and I don't wear bike jerseys, though I will admit that, yesterday, I was wearing a homemade Apple computer t-shirt, and maybe that's worse than lycra.

My only conclusion is that the guy doesn't like helmets, which is like a trail rabbit not liking pomegranates; no matter how you look at it, it doesn't make sense.

Seven Minute Socks

So, today is the fourth day that I've ridden my bike to work. From my house it's about twelve-and-a-quarter miles to my trailer. Last Thursday, I made the ride in 1 hour and 6 minutes. Today I made the ride in 1 hour and 4 minutes. So, one day, 2 minutes off my time. I gotta keep that up because, well, check out the chart.



After only 34 days of riding I will be getting to work in, literally, no time at all. Saving gas money and time! How about that!

Bad Poetry Thursday (200)

200 posts, can you believe it?

Upon the Dawning of the Time of Your Life
by Schuyler

When a milestone is reached
it means a thousand different things
to different people
it's a time for celebration
it's a marker of acheivement
it's the mark of someone with way too much time
To me it's just a symbol
of some forgotten notion
of a time when life was simpler
and we didn't have to
juggle chainsaws
while riding unicycles through a
flaming ring of fire
on a taut and thin high wire.
You start to think that when it's over
when the milestones are miles behind
and you're waist deep in mud
and trapped between two fallen trees
that fell in front and back while you were sleeping
that maybe now would be a good time to have
a chainsaw
and a fire at least could keep you warm.

More Bad Poetry

See, I was serious about cranking these suckers out fast. This one took maybe 7 minutes.


A Walk in the Park
by Schuyler

He turned around three times
Like a dog looking for a place to sleep
Only he wasn't sleepy
Just convinced there was someone
In the room with him
But there wasn't
And there never had been

The room was known
To him alone
And how even he learned of
It's existence
Is still a little hazy
The walls all painted gray
Were painted gray as they always had been
When he saw the room
Before today
In dreams or in real life
He didn't know
But it all seemed different
Now that he was on
The inside
Of a room
He didn't know was there
When he walked past the blank wall
Where the door
Was hidden by a cloud
In his eyes
Just yesterday

Bad Poetry Thursday, Fast!

Okay, here's the deal. I realized that it's not as much fun as it sounds to write poems with arbitrarily decided lengths or structures. Instead, my new policy, which may only last this week, is to write bad poems as quickly as possible. This first installment only took about 5 minutes. Also, it happens to be exactly 45 words, but that wasn't planned.


A Shot In The Dark
by Schuyler


When a blue spark jumps
Across the long divide between
A finger
And the door knob
A million tiny hands
All strain for something they'll never reach
And grasp at nothing
And then
Each hand one by one
Evaporates
Before you can even say ouch.