The other night I'm riding my bike home while I have a High Life tallboy in my right hand. Now previously that night I found out that my front brakes, situated on the right handlbars, were no longer working. I only add this anecdotal evidence to add a little color to the story. It really serves no purpose later because I had a plastic bag of leftover High Lifes in my right hand.
As I approached the largest street I would have to cross on my way home, 50th, I noticed a car was just setting at the stop sign. Right turn signal all a blink. That might be a clue to some person such as Sherlock Holmes, but I am not Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes does not have a wicked one speed. If Sherlock Holmes had a bicycle, it would be one of those weird bikes with the one big wheel and one little wheel. So maybe I should just say someone who would ride a bike like mine, but also with the cognitive capacity to use adductive reasoning to divine future portent. MacGuyver perhaps would have been a better choice.
I was not about to let a stopped car slow me down, so I attempted to pass on the left, and ignore the posted vehicular suggestion.
At this point I determined that the car was not turning right because of the other car coming towards both of us in the northbound lane of 50th. After determining that the newly located car would not be able to stop in time to allow me to pass, I decided using my brakes would allow me to avoid certain impact. So I applied my right handed brake, the rear brake, liberally. I continued at the same rate because there was no handle bar in my right hand, only a now crushed High Life can.
Deciding that defensive driving was a better idea than attempting to take on the opposing vehicle like a modern day male Pinky Tuscadero since I did not have the immediate assistance of one Arthur Fonzarelli, I pulled a quick turn into the curb and rode the sidewalk, grass, curb, and then street to safety. My heart beat quickly, but I was able to ditch my nonfunctioning High Life, and coast back home without further predicaments.
Moral: Wear a helmet.
As I approached the largest street I would have to cross on my way home, 50th, I noticed a car was just setting at the stop sign. Right turn signal all a blink. That might be a clue to some person such as Sherlock Holmes, but I am not Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes does not have a wicked one speed. If Sherlock Holmes had a bicycle, it would be one of those weird bikes with the one big wheel and one little wheel. So maybe I should just say someone who would ride a bike like mine, but also with the cognitive capacity to use adductive reasoning to divine future portent. MacGuyver perhaps would have been a better choice.
I was not about to let a stopped car slow me down, so I attempted to pass on the left, and ignore the posted vehicular suggestion.
At this point I determined that the car was not turning right because of the other car coming towards both of us in the northbound lane of 50th. After determining that the newly located car would not be able to stop in time to allow me to pass, I decided using my brakes would allow me to avoid certain impact. So I applied my right handed brake, the rear brake, liberally. I continued at the same rate because there was no handle bar in my right hand, only a now crushed High Life can.
Deciding that defensive driving was a better idea than attempting to take on the opposing vehicle like a modern day male Pinky Tuscadero since I did not have the immediate assistance of one Arthur Fonzarelli, I pulled a quick turn into the curb and rode the sidewalk, grass, curb, and then street to safety. My heart beat quickly, but I was able to ditch my nonfunctioning High Life, and coast back home without further predicaments.
Moral: Wear a helmet.
posted by The Cruise at 12:52 PM
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