I walked to the edge of the rabbit hole, and immediately fell down into it.
For some reason or another, my better half brought home an application on her telephone recently that goes by the name of ‘Plants Versus Zombies’. Now knowing that my OCD can at times reach unparalleled proportions, this wasn’t a wise move on her part, as it has devoured my attention for the better part of two days. That being said, if today’s post is a little more disjointed than usual, it’s because I’m in a rush to get back to the madness.
With games like these it’s a wonder that anyone who ever crossed their cursed paths gets much more than a stitch of work done, let alone remember to eat, sleep, or make brown.
Do yourself a favor and steer a wide birth around this game. It will lead to your ruin.
I was however able to pull myself away from the slaughter of the undead to go a bicycle ride which resulted in an entire day of bewilderment and disappointment, that I will tell you about now.
I left home aboard my prized new bicycle, as I have many times this past week. Ascending the first hill away from my house, I was stuck in a stare down with my shoes. I can’t tell you why I was so transfixed, but as I watched my feet go around in squares, I rode through the biggest, freshest pile of vomit this side of my freshmen year of college. Stopping immediately so as to minimize any unwanted spray, I emptied both of my water bottles on my bike to rid it of it’s unholy cargo.
Stopping a short time later to make a secondary inspection, I was sitting at an intersection, as a man on a scooter made an oncoming left in front of me and high sided the turn, sending him rag dolling across the pavement where he came to rest at my feet. He sat and we stared at one another for a moment before he stood up, remounted his steed, and rode away.
A few hours later near the conclusion of my ride along newly cut and super secret single track, pictured here;
A redwood branch bounced up into my rear wheel, relieving me of two spokes and one derailleur hanger.
As I mentioned last week, two things I dislike on my bikes are mismatched brakes and mismatched wheels, but one thing that sends me into a seething pit of despair is when my tire rubs on the chain stay every rotation for the ten mile ride of shame home.
Maybe I should have just stuck with killing zombies.
Thank you for letting me get that off my chest. I feel 15% better.
Now then, let’s move onto the mail bag. Or, as was pointed out to me recently, the ‘male sack’.
From J.B.O.D. we get a note letting us know that no matter how swollen your face, while wearing a kit, you’ll still look snazzy;
“Sported the duds last night at the ER. Hit a huge mutant wasp on my ride to the trailhead, and about 5 minutes later in the parking lot I was a collapsing, wheezing, twitching, and unable-to-coherently-speak blob. Luckily my riding buddies realized the non-Radness of this event and remembered that we had not yet ridden, and therefore not yet partaken in the post-ride cold-ones which usually put me in this state and dialed me up a 911 ride to the ER. So I’m allergic to insect stings. Who knew? Not me.
Anyway, it’s not a central park picture, but just wanted to pass along the representation and note that I could totally feel the duds earning me some street cred at the ER. The full-zip option saved them from the medic’s shears, thankfully.
Pic after some of the meds had take effect:
Ride Boldly Ride,
I have had several run-ins with wasps of various temperaments this past year, and I can say with authority, that it is an extremely unpleasant experience. Fortunately, I discovered a remedy to getting stung by the flying menace, and that is simply to never leave on a ride without my Snazzy Napper;
All it took was a slight adjustment in the positioning so that I could see out of the nose hole and I was good to go.
Certainly for the extra protection I would have paid the additional ten dollars for the larger one, but I thought it would be problematic to ride with. However, shortly after the arrival of mine, I have learned that there are actually bicycles designed to accommodate just such an accessory.
Anyway, after parting with my hard earned cash, I see that there are people out there who are far more resourceful than I am, and as such, still have fifteen dollars in their pocket.
In other news, what may or may not have been a mass email found its way into my inbox recently, but because I like the cut of the sender’s jib, I will present it to you now;
“Greetings from the Black Rose!
We are a worker owned collective specializing in custom handmade bike bags made from recovered materials (dumpstered). We are commuters, randoneers, tourers and cargo carriers. We live on our bikes and we know what details a bag needs to do its job. We recognize our work as both political and trans formative. We recover that which others deem to be trash, redeem it, and make it into something beautiful, useful, special, and uniquely suited to our “customers” needs and dreams.
From an old broken sewing machine to dumpsters filled with material, we seek to redeem everything and create everywhere.
It would be great for us if you checked out our bags. Our photos are on flickr here.
And our homepage is here.
Love, Peace, -n- Bicycle Grease,
The Black Rose”
People making something out of nothing. That’s what I like to hear.
Finally from DPow! of esteemed advertisers, Portland Design Works I got the following video clip;
I forwarded this on to one New Yorker in particular, and made note that it was like being in the Sistine Chapel. Everywhere you look, there is something amazing to behold.
Not unlike this upcoming e-vent that you might want to mark on your calendars;
I’m going to 2 for 2 and see if I can’t lose my camera this year as well.
It is with that, that I announce the time has come to pull up stakes and get back to business.
After all, the zombies aren’t gonna kill themselves.