I was at the corner of Hall and Jefferson in Washington today. Four dudes with bikes arrived at the intersection at roughly the same time, each from a different direction. Describe them? Sure.
I love it when you see a smoker on a bike. I love how they seem really vigilant in a way that has nothing to do with traffic safety. I love how slow they can pedal without putting down a foot to steady themselves, and I love the general vibe they put out of "I ain't on this thing for my health."
They never seem to be heading anywhere. At least not anywhere that requires a shirt.
If a bunch of parole officers and bail bondsmen sponsored a little league team, I would hope the mascot of that team would be a Smoker on a Bike.
This guy had a little trailer, like the kind where you would have a kid or two getting some fresh air and sunshine, but as it happens. there were no kids. Only cargo. The trailer was filled with something -- not garbage or recycling material like I was half-expecting, but a stack of identical packages. I have no idea what they were. I didn't try hard to figure it out. I was imagining the guy buying a kid trailer, putting it together a attaching it to the back of his bike and letting out a small, wistful sigh before filling it with, let's say, promotional rain ponchos.
And if you find your heart breaking for him, the way you might if you have any compassion in you at all, know that he was not alone. Attached to the flank of the trailer like a Nazi sidecar, was a dog.
And sure... the the dog's involvement in this whole affair seemed semi-consensual at best, but that doesn't mean he wasn't enjoying himself. He looked like he was smiling, the way dogs do when they teeter on the edge of heat-stroke. In the owner's defense, the man was helmeted, clad in Lycra and pedaling in the lowest gear as to limit his top speed. At least two of those things point to him probably not being a weirdo.
This guy was the only one of the four not to be ON his bike. He was wheeling it along the sidewalk. I'm only a casual observer of these things and I was primarily concerned with keeping my eyes on the traffic and pedestrians while waiting for my light to turn green. Ordinarily, a man escorting perfectly functional bike along an uncongested sidewalk would make me suspicious, but it's not my place to judge. I'm willing to cut strangers a break. Particularly if those strangers are, as this one was, operating a powered wheelchair.
Okay, so maybe you have a picture in your head now. Let me refine it a little bit. You might be thinking of a young Wesley Snipes from The Waterdance tending to some highly-adaptive piece of Paralympics gear, full of spirit and determination, wearing those kinda-cool wheelchair gloves with no fingers. Wrong-o. Think Raymond Burr from Ironside, think Mountain Bike from an energy drink commercial.
And... I don't know. He stumped me. I had a back-story for Captain Drag-a-Dog pretty fast, but this guy was beyond my reasoning. And he was undoubtedly doing someone a pretty big favor and with no small amount of effort (it was not going well). He does not deserve the tone of these paragraphs. Particularly when there is so much to hate about the last guy to the party.
Fourth guy.
White, young, glasses, hoodie, Rite-Aid bag, riding in the street rather than on the sidewalk, traveling with purpose and caution... and that was it.
But there had to be something, right? I mean, I know on a rational level how the universe works, I understand the basics of probablility and the Law of Large Numbers, I know the roulette wheel doesn't know if it just came up red or black, but clearly those rules had been suspended. The Universe would not, could not, simply drop you into the stormy eye of a weird bike conjunction without expecting you to solve the Sudoku of the Final Biker. Unravel him! Spare no one!
I watched him round the bend and pedal off. I put my truck in park and leaned waaaay over to the mirror until he was gone.
“What's your thing?”
- Man from the Northeast: Smoker on a Bike.
I love it when you see a smoker on a bike. I love how they seem really vigilant in a way that has nothing to do with traffic safety. I love how slow they can pedal without putting down a foot to steady themselves, and I love the general vibe they put out of "I ain't on this thing for my health."
They never seem to be heading anywhere. At least not anywhere that requires a shirt.
If a bunch of parole officers and bail bondsmen sponsored a little league team, I would hope the mascot of that team would be a Smoker on a Bike.
- Man from the Northwest: Captain and Co-Pilot.
This guy had a little trailer, like the kind where you would have a kid or two getting some fresh air and sunshine, but as it happens. there were no kids. Only cargo. The trailer was filled with something -- not garbage or recycling material like I was half-expecting, but a stack of identical packages. I have no idea what they were. I didn't try hard to figure it out. I was imagining the guy buying a kid trailer, putting it together a attaching it to the back of his bike and letting out a small, wistful sigh before filling it with, let's say, promotional rain ponchos.
And if you find your heart breaking for him, the way you might if you have any compassion in you at all, know that he was not alone. Attached to the flank of the trailer like a Nazi sidecar, was a dog.
And sure... the the dog's involvement in this whole affair seemed semi-consensual at best, but that doesn't mean he wasn't enjoying himself. He looked like he was smiling, the way dogs do when they teeter on the edge of heat-stroke. In the owner's defense, the man was helmeted, clad in Lycra and pedaling in the lowest gear as to limit his top speed. At least two of those things point to him probably not being a weirdo.
- Man from the Southwest: The Optimist.
This guy was the only one of the four not to be ON his bike. He was wheeling it along the sidewalk. I'm only a casual observer of these things and I was primarily concerned with keeping my eyes on the traffic and pedestrians while waiting for my light to turn green. Ordinarily, a man escorting perfectly functional bike along an uncongested sidewalk would make me suspicious, but it's not my place to judge. I'm willing to cut strangers a break. Particularly if those strangers are, as this one was, operating a powered wheelchair.
Okay, so maybe you have a picture in your head now. Let me refine it a little bit. You might be thinking of a young Wesley Snipes from The Waterdance tending to some highly-adaptive piece of Paralympics gear, full of spirit and determination, wearing those kinda-cool wheelchair gloves with no fingers. Wrong-o. Think Raymond Burr from Ironside, think Mountain Bike from an energy drink commercial.
And... I don't know. He stumped me. I had a back-story for Captain Drag-a-Dog pretty fast, but this guy was beyond my reasoning. And he was undoubtedly doing someone a pretty big favor and with no small amount of effort (it was not going well). He does not deserve the tone of these paragraphs. Particularly when there is so much to hate about the last guy to the party.
- Man from the Southeast: The Wildcard.
Fourth guy.
White, young, glasses, hoodie, Rite-Aid bag, riding in the street rather than on the sidewalk, traveling with purpose and caution... and that was it.
But there had to be something, right? I mean, I know on a rational level how the universe works, I understand the basics of probablility and the Law of Large Numbers, I know the roulette wheel doesn't know if it just came up red or black, but clearly those rules had been suspended. The Universe would not, could not, simply drop you into the stormy eye of a weird bike conjunction without expecting you to solve the Sudoku of the Final Biker. Unravel him! Spare no one!
I watched him round the bend and pedal off. I put my truck in park and leaned waaaay over to the mirror until he was gone.
“What's your thing?”
“What's your WEIRD THING!?”
The wind shifted, the light changed. It was over. Whatever this was, it was done.
“Kinda... (parking break off, back in drive) kinda warm for a hoodie, I guess.”
(accelerator, turn signal off)
"Weirdo..."
The wind shifted, the light changed. It was over. Whatever this was, it was done.
“Kinda... (parking break off, back in drive) kinda warm for a hoodie, I guess.”
(accelerator, turn signal off)
"Weirdo..."
No comments:
Post a Comment