For the Record

In case it ever comes up, which one ardently hopes it doesn't:

I post this because of the way the news media typically report cyclist deaths: A texting, speeding SUV driver jumps the median and swerves across three lanes of oncoming traffic, taking out a cyclist in the opposite bike lane before attempting to flee the scene and ending up wedged through the front window of a laundromat. "It wasn't clear whether the cyclist had lights," the article will conclude.

The laundromat is usually presumed to be innocent.

The driver is as well, unless it turns out that s/he was intoxicated. Being spectacularly and fatally unable to control a motor vehicle while cold sober is perfectly normal, and nothing to be concerned about.

I also wear a helmet every time I ride these days, though I'm doubtful of its usefulness in the above scenario. Helmets are really designed for lesser collisions, such as if you suddenly lose your balance for no reason and fall on your head at five miles per hour. This does actually describe my cycling style pretty well. In fact, I should probably wear it for walking too, and definitely in the shower, though getting it wet might void the warranty.

But one thing I adamantly don't do is advocate for helmet use. I really can't stand sanctimonious helmet-pushers. I was chewed out by one, after a helmetless excursion, a few years ago. She wouldn't drop the subject and actually grabbed my arm and yelled at me for my wanton disregard for my own well-being, a cigarette dangling from her free hand. I haven't gotten over the trauma, and to this day, if I saw her coming the other way on the hike-and-bike trail, I'd take my helmet off and throw it into the lake rather than let her see me wearing one. You don't want to encourage these people.

This was a great weekend to get a little biking in - highs in the mid-70s today, and beautiful and sunny, after wintry mix last week and another bout of sleet and possible snow in the forecast by Wednesday. But one unfortunate side effect of wildly bipolar weather is that you end up getting too sick to enjoy the good days. We did a few miles on the South Walnut Creek trail yesterday. Today, I contented myself with giving the bike a bath and charging up my lights.

Tomorrow I'm reporting for jury duty in District court. Those are typically traffic violations. I'm hoping that if I show up sneezing, shivering, soaked, helmeted, and bitterly resentful, they'll just send me home.

No Sense of Humor

Yesterday after work I went to a happy hour I was invited to by a woman I'm slightly acquainted with in the office. She seems nice enough. She's invited me to several happy hours and, for one reason or another - couldn't find parking one time, or didn't feel up to it, or something else came up - I've never gone. But yesterday's was at Doc's on South Congress, close to work and close to home, and I had nothing else going on. So at 5 I biked on over and joined the group.

It turned out that, besides this woman, there was only one person I knew slightly from work, and he's kind of a weird creepy guy, with a soft voice and sticky eyes. Once a few months ago he showed up at a work-sponsored blood drive while I was lying on the table, and he picked the table adjacent to mine, and lay down with the top of his head so close to the top of my head that I could feel warmth coming off him. I was a little creeped out. I didn't really want to hang with this guy at happy hour.

Everyone else there was family of this woman, who happens to be Hispanic. They were friendly, but she had two rather obnoxious male cousins, who made lots of stupid jokes, and actually shouted at a couple of women passing by on the sidewalk - which the women in the group seemed to think was pretty funny. I don't think I've ever been a member of a group that did that before! Still, they seemed very pleased with themselves. "Hey, Madonna! Madonna!" they yelled after a girl who walked by in a white lace dress and cowboy boots. The woman who had invited me was in the bathroom, but when she got back, they told her what they had done. She laughed. "You guys are just crazy," she said affectionately.

I was working pretty hard on my second beer, kind of anxious to finish it and get home, when the cousin sitting across from me waved and called out to his cousin across the bar, sticking his arm straight out. "Hey, it looks like the Nazi wave," he said, laughing. "Hey, Joe! Joe! Heil!"

He turned to me, still laughing, this guy I've never even met before. "So do they do that a lot in your family?"

. . .

"Not really," I said, not smiling, and I closed out my tab and said my goodbyes ("Why are you leaving so early?" the woman I work with asked) and left. Remind me not to go to any more happy hours with these people. But perhaps she won't invite me anymore anyway. Clearly I can't take a joke.