Wipe Out

Hi. I wiped out on my bike, luckily only messing up my right hand (seen above) and wrist. Unfortunately, that means I'm typing pretty slowly these days. Luckily my girlfriend is kind enough to type this for me, so we'll keep this quick.... or not

I was on my way home from buying a Sock It To Me cake,... on a bright and sunny, very dry afternoon and my bike slipped out from under me. There was no puddle of water or oil or anything else anywhere to be seen. As I went down, I must have put my hand down to stop and protect myself, but instead I slid... on my hand and hip. Although I scraped up my hand and sprained my wrist (which is in a sling), my head never hit the ground... not because I was wearing a helmet (which I wasn't), but because of my Bizarro-Fred Flintstone breaking style.

As I was still sliding to a stop I remember calmly thinking, "Damn. I'm getting fucked up."

By the way if you'd like to see how far I slid, take a look at the white groove my pedal left in the street (pictured below).


As soon as I came to a stop, a guy who witnessed the whole embarrassing episode ran over to me, at top speed, to help me and my bike get vertical, again. I must admit, though, that my feelings bounced back and forth between gratitude and suspicion - just in case ol' boy saw that as an opportunity to do more than offer a little help.

He was very considerate, though, and I jumped my embarrassed ass up, grabbed the pieces of my now-damaged, but still functional tail-light, thanked him for his help, and said, "Well, I've been biking for a while, now. I guess I had to wipe out, eventually," before jumping BACK on my bike and hauling wounded ass. I left my pride back there on the street, though - what little was left of it.

Since then, I've washed & disinfected my scrapes, purchased a sling, unsuccessfully searched for my wrist guard, and alternated between protecting my swollen, very sore wrist at all costs and trying to use it to keep it from getting too stiff.

I'm typing, again, at the moment, but I'm going to put my arm back in the sling and back on-ice in just a minute.

I guess that's that. I hope I'm not leaving anything out.
Thanks.

EDIT: Please post any questions here and I'll try to answer them as best as I can. By posting questions and answers here, that will save me some typing (i.e. discomfort) later on.

The Cycle of Life

Biking (cycling?) is a constant in my life, these days. It is my primary mode of transportation. The days that I jump in the truck and drive to class or to the grocery store are exceptional.

I actually feel badly when I give in and drive somewhere - unless it's because of the weather. Even then, I'm regretful if the weather report was "off." I wish I'd been more ...insightful or something.

I regret it in all of the silly and substantive ways it's possible to regret such a thing. I regret the pollutants I've unnecessarily put into the air by driving a gas-guzzling suv short distances. I regret not passing the, for lack of a better descriptor, pioneer test.

The "pioneer" part, to me, represents the people who did and do live rough and without modern technological conveniences. If they needed to get somewhere, they walked or rode a bike, and if it rained, they didn't stay home. They sucked it up.

Maybe it's because I'm a man, but there's a big part of me that feels the need to be able to negotiate life's and nature's obstacles in a natural fashion. If food was unavailable, could I catch what my family needs? If the law of the land was suspended, could I protect my loved ones and property?

Anyway, biking is important to me. And apparently, it's good for me.

In addition to being good exercise, it requires competent, meticulous planning.

I've got to get up and cook so I've got enough strength to bike 6-12 miles, most weekdays.
I've got to remember to check the weekly, daily, and hourly weather reports so I know how to dress.
Like a woman going from purse-to-purse, I've got to switch my belongings around, depending on the situation and conditions - from my jacket (cold, rain) to my book bag (larger textbooks, etc.) to a smaller, more portable bag or case (traveling light), or combinations thereof.
I've got to plan any and all errands in-advance so that I don't have to cover the same ground multiple times.

If you drive to the post office, but forgot that today's Presidents' Day, you can just drive back the next day. You may recall the inconvenience long enough to complain about it a little, but it's relatively easy to forget the lesson learned.

If you bike to the post office, as I did today, and then realize that your poor planning meant you had to bike the rest of the way to class, then back home, with an extra 25 pounds of packages, you'll damn-well remember next time. The consequences of poor planning "hurt" a bit more. You feel them more deeply.

I'm still feeling them, now. And that's a good thing, because it helps me keep my $#!+ together.

Nothing Up My Sleeves

WEST3MAN [8:44 P.M.]: earlier, while biking back from class, i went to the bank.
WEST3MAN [8:45 P.M.]: as soon as i got in (and the breeze was no longer cooling me) i started unzipping my jacket sleeves.
WEST3MAN [8:45 P.M.]: wasn't good enough, so i put them AND my jacket into my backpack.
WEST3MAN [8:46 P.M.]: well, this evening, i prepared my jacket for its first washing (been sweating in it for some time so this is overdue)
WEST3MAN [8:46 P.M.]: and i noticed my sleeves were missing.
WEST3MAN [8:46 P.M.]: couldn't find'em anywhere.
WEST3MAN [8:46 P.M.]: i concluded that they were either at the bank, at the bike shop, or somewhere along the route i traveled.
WEST3MAN [8:47 P.M.]: and it was already late... and wet.
WEST3MAN [8:47 P.M.]: couldn't help it. i had to drive around the city to see if i could find it.
WEST3MAN [8:48 P.M.]: slim chance, i know.
WEST3MAN [8:48 P.M.]: but i DID find them!
WEST3MAN [8:48 P.M.]: wet and almost in the gutter, but intact.
WEST3MAN [8:48 P.M.]: yay.
WEST3MAN [8:48 P.M.]: i knew my backpack didn't zip all the way but i didn't think it was enough for them to make a break for it.
WEST3MAN [8:49 P.M.]: apparently, they thought the opportunity was too good to pass up.
WEST3MAN [8:50 P.M.]: amazing that i found them. really.
WEST3MAN [8:50 P.M.]: had no idea whether the company'd sell JUST the sleeves
WEST3MAN [8:50 P.M.]: [..] since i was gonna wash'em anyway *shrugs*
WEST3MAN [8:51 P.M.]: so it seems my determination and perhaps ingenuity trumped my stupidity.

Biking Shorts - Part 4

Drive-by.
In fact, a funny thing happened along the way back from the flea market. Before crossing a street in a residential area, I made sure to make eye-contact with the driver of a red truck that was approaching the same intersection.

Despite the fact that I had the "right of way," I wasn't crossing in front of this Sanford & Son special until I knew the driver recognized my "right" and my "way."

She nodded and I continued on.

Along the way, I noticed that a vehicle was approaching me, very slowly, from behind. This wasn't too unusual since many drivers go WAY out of their way to make sure they're not going to hit bikers and pedestrians. This time, though, the driver pulled alongside me, with her window down. It was the same red truck from before.

"You wanna put that bike in the back of my truck," she asked. I guessed this was her way of taking pity on a novice cyclist, but offering me a ride home.

"Hehe. No, thanks. I'm good," I replied.

"You just doing that for exercise?"

That was close enough to the truth, so I responded, "Yep."

"Mmm. Well you sho' are lookin' GOOD," she said, as she stared at me through her good eye.

I laughed and thanked her, then she drove off.

Along with the exhilaration of the ride and the surprising beauty of a few hidden scenic areas, her compliment made my "little" trek that much cooler.*

Not a bad start.

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* But the LAST thing I was expecting was for ANYbody to "holla" at my sweaty, inappropriately-dressed (tank and jeans), wobbly-ridin' behind. :-p

Biking Shorts - Part 3

So, I've gone on about how much I've enjoyed biking around town. Below, I address one or two of the down-sides.

The Need For Speed
The main complaint I'd share, besides how frustrating pedestrian and vehicular traffic flow can be, is how long it takes (and how hard it can be) to get from point A to point B. I'd like to make it to and from class more quickly, but my bike wasn't made or chosen for it's speed.

Besides, there was no point in choosing anything much fancier until I 1) knew I was gonna stick with this thing for the long haul and 2) knew what it was that I wanted and needed out of a bike.

So after a couple of months, I decided that, while I'll still ride Trusty Rusty (mostly a joke name, as it's pretty "chromey") on leisurely rides around the neighborhood, for my serious commutes and longer distances, I wanted something that could coast farther and go faster.

I've looked at models from $700 to $130. In the end, I went to the flea market, more or less on a whim, and found a used, ten-speed (oddly enough ol' "Trusty" is actually a 15-speed) that fit the bill. It cost a heckuva lot less than $130 and even has a few "extras."

Whim and Vigor.
Now, I picked up this particular model on a whim, like I said, which meant that we didn't bring the bike rack with us to transport the bike back home. Not only that, but to be quite blunt, a big reason why I didn't want one of those Need for Speed (N4S) bikes, in the first place, was because they are some serious nutcrackers.*

The guy selling the bike didn't have his tools with him, so I couldn't adjust or replace that hard seat. So, riding the bike home didn't seem like a great plan. We didn't have the bike rack with us, so that was out. What were we to do?

Asian sensation. We went to the "dollar store" booth around the way, bought a small set of Allen wrenches for a buck, negotiated a smaller price for the bike, adjusted the seat, and went on our way.

After taking some time to convince my girlfriend that I'd be safe, she reluctantly agreed to leave me to ride the bike the 6.4 miles back home while she drove the car, grabbed some food, and picked up some grocery items.

To my surprise, 40 minutes later, I was home. The ride was a little scary since I'm still a beginner and riding on the road requires a good deal of caution, but the seat adjustment made a huge difference and I took all the back roads I could find. My gps software (more on that later, too) kept me going in the right direction, so all was well.

It was one helluvan experience.

After this weekend, I don't feel like there's any part of town that's unavailable to me by bicycle (not that Tally's some huge metropolis). The possibilities seem to be endless.


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Part 2
Part 4



* There ain't nuttin' nice about that hard ass, narrow seat, with the pointy black penis on the end, molestin' the hell outta your bits n pieces on a long trip back from wherever the hell!

Biking Shorts - Part 2

So, I've been biking around like a madman, these past couple of months.

After years or trial-and-error, trying to find a bicycle that felt right and worked well, I learned, the hard way, that not all bikes are created equal. Having finally found one that worked for me, I was all too happy to ride around the neighborhood, hit the paved biking trails, peddle to the bus stop (which I sometimes take to class), and, eventually, to bike the 6 miles or so (round-trip) to and from class.

Tallahassee's got hills for DAYS, but somehow my screaming thigh muscles weren't deterrents. I mean, it's true that money's tighter than it's been in some time, but I don't really HAVE to bike back and forth to class. I could drive or I could walk to the bus stop and ride for free.

Instead, I set up my audio entertainment*, set up my gear**, and hit the road. I feel like I'm doing a good thing. Really.

A recent podcast I listened to was about fuel-efficient cars - hybrids, etc. - and how that's a good thing for the environment and for decreasing our dependence on oil, but an even better way is to carpool or catch the bus or walk... or bike your way around.

I guess that makes sense. If biking, for instance, allows you to only drive half as much as you used to, you've effectively doubled your gas mileage - depending on how you look at it. In my case, I drive a day out of the average week. In fact, I drive so little that I feel strange behind the wheel, these days.

Besides feeling like I'm wasting fossil fuels and contributing to global warming, I just feel like a huge target for police officers who've GOT to find SOME reason to pull me over (despite the fact that I'm the slowest driver you'd never want to meet on the highway).

So, I'm helping the environment, reducing the chances that I'll get a traffic ticket, decreasing my auto insurance rates by driving less, saving gas money (I estimate that a half-hour, round-trip commute costs about $3 per trip on a good day), and keeping myself healthy.

And, honestly, it's just plain ol' FUN.

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* - usually, streaming NPR programming through my Treo smartphone and listening to it wirelessly through my stereo Bluetooth headphones. More on those at a later date. You know I'm way overdue for some tech ranting. :-)

** - Tallahassee weather (hell, this whole region's weather) is moody as can be, so layers are key.

Biking Shorts - Part 1

I thought I'd drop a couple of short posts about my primary mode of transportation, these days, and a little about how it's changed me.


I got a brand-new bicycle (just be)for Christmas. It was all shiny and unspoiled.
I took it back within a couple of weeks.

We saw a local thrift store advertising discounted bikes. That's where I found a 20-year-old "hoopty"*** of a bike with a steel frame and high handle bars. Love at first sight.
I took it home that day.

It's funny that shiny and new didn't offer what *I* needed. It didn't coast far enough or "handle" high enough for my comfort. I wasn't looking for a speed demon. I was looking for a nice, comfortable bike to cruise around the neighborhood, get a little exercise, and maybe save gas money, along with the Earth.

Higher handle bars were easier on my back. I wasn't worried about wind resistance. I was worried about bone-itis*.

So infatuated with my new ride was I that, when I packed for my Christmas trip to see the family, I packed the bike, too.


You ain't seen NUFFIN' 'til you done seent a grown-ass Black man riding high on a old-ass comfort bike, with a big o' basket on the back, and a big-ass grin on his face. I was happy as could be, riding alongside all the kids with their brand-new, shiny Christmas bikes.

It was just what I wanted and (with some adjustments) it fit me to a "T." I'm sure I looked some kinda "special" cheesing my way down the street, back and forth to class, and even to the store, on ol' Trusty Rusty, but I couldn't give a damn.

Yes, my bike's got "battle scars" but that's all right. I am (and my legs muscles, especially are) gettin' fit again**, so it's all good.

No complaints. Well, maybe one, but that's for another post.

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Part 3
Part 4




* a lil nod to the Futurama fans out there.
** I ain't TRYIN' to get a juicy in my old age!
*** - Actually, it's got something of a beach cruiser body style. Not quite as dorky as this, but close enough. Dorkily comfortable.

Vick & Dog Fights

As I've said before, I'm not one to follow professional sports all that closely. I can enjoy playing the games and watching the games, but I don't do either all that often.

Michael Vick is a familiar player, though, for a number of reasons - among them is a certain amount of controversy that's surrounded him for some time. In most cases, the little I knew about the situations left me with the impression that the media was more interested in making news where there was none. That may still be true, but the latest issue, in which I believe Vick faces charges related to participating in or allowing brutal, deadly dog-fights on his property, leaves me almost completely unsympathetic to the man.

I'll admit that I still don't know everything involved in the case, but if what I've heard is true, at best I'd suspect that he's condoned the abuse and killing of these animals - at worst, he actively participates in it.

That disgusts me more than I can say. Not only does that show a lack of respect for the value of life - all life - but I can't help but think of the children, elderly, and others who've been mauled by some savage pitbull. Maybe some or even most of those dogs were that aggressive and dangerous by-nature, but if I were a betting man, I'd wager that a number of the dogs that attack humans have been mistreated or improperly trained or bred by other humans.

The way I see it, that puts those victims' blood in the hands of the kinds of brutal bastards who encourage, condone, or participate in dog fights.

If Vick's guilty, to whatever extent he may be guilty, I hope they throw the book directly at him and everyone who helped him.

Imus, wtf?!

Uhhh. I heard that Imus referred to some women's basketball team as a bunch of "nappy-headed hoes."

I don't know the context (which, according to contemporary journalistic standards might've been ol' boy reading a line from a Spike Lee script) but dayum!

I'm not exactly raising the bar here, but this one floored me.

Rich bitching...

The recent T.O. no-no's have prompted the usual comments about how highly-paid individuals shouldn't bitch or gripe about their work conditions. I disagree with this.

Now, I'm not the typical football fan. I love the game, but I don't follow the teams or players very closely. As a result, all I know about this situation has come from or filtered through others like Nikki. So, this isn't a big-time football fan commenting on how right or wrong Mr. Owens or his employers are. No. This is just lil ol' me bitching about people bitching about rich bitching...


If you're talented, skilled, or fortunate enough to have found a way to make millions playing a game, playing pretend, or shuffling papers... more power to you. That does not, though, mean you no longer have the right to voice your dissatisfaction with the situation. It may decrease the chances that people will WANT to hear what you have to say, but let's not get it twisted. That's about jealousy and jealousy's not about the have's. It's about the have-not's.

Oh well. Get over it.

HOW we voice our disagreements matters, of course, but that's not what I'm talking about, right now. I'm talking about the right to gripe.

People claim that signing a contract means you knew what you were getting into, so there's no point in complaining. Please.

First of all, we ALL make compromises sometimes. That doesn't mean we like the results of that compromise. Maybe YOU accepted some job or started a business or something, despite unfavorable conditions which you knew about before-hand. The fact is, though, that we've all got to eat and we've all got bills to pay. Some make big bucks, but that usually means that they've got BIGGER bills to pay. In some cases, that also means they've got a shorter shelf-life. That means it's not just about what you earn and spend, today. It's about what you earn today so that you can spend tomorrow... or the day after your career ends. Signing that contract might've been a smarter move than NOT signing it, despite its short-comings. I can't fault someone for being bright enough to know this, but failing to have the negotiating skills or capital to make a better deal.

Secondly, if the employEE knew what he or she was getting into, then so did the employER. In the case of professional athletes, it seems that there are clauses that employers sometimes take advantage of when they find that a player's just not worth it. These employers knew what they were getting into, as much or moreso than the athletes. They certainly don't forfeit THEIR rights to complain and damned if THEY'RE not making bank.

Finally, I've observed multiple discussions, of late, in which people have expressed the unfortunate opinion that employer's can and/or should do almost anything they want because, hey, the employees who don't like their conditions... can just quit. I disagree. Employers and employees have certain obligations to one another - some explicit and some implicit. If either side feels the other isn't holding up their end, they've got the right to speak up and out about it.

In the case of the individual, you'd damned-well better. If you don't, dammit who will?