Monday, June 23, 2008

My Limit

Mom, I love you, but you might not want to read this entry.

Over the past five years I have ridden thousands of miles on my bike. I've weathered snow in Idaho, rain in Hawaii and the sweltering sun in Utah. I've been stranded in West Jordan with a flat tire and no cell phone. I've flipped off the front of my bike after almost being hit by a car. I've been thrown down into a railroad track after my wheel got caught, and I've fallen at the intersection of 4th South and 1300 East when I couldn't clip out in time. In all these experiences I kept my cool. I dusted myself off, cleaned off the blood, pimped myself out to get a ride home from West Jordan and called it a day. No cussing. No birds. I was restrained and I was in control.

However, Saturday I fear I finally reached my limit.

This weekend Dan had to work, and so I decided to go out for a ride alone. I chose a route I've done many times and set out to enjoy the day. After twenty miles I turned around and started to head for home. I was cruising down a hill at about twenty-five miles an hour when a truck flew by and blew a blow horn right next to me. The sound absolutely scared the crap out of me and set a jolt through my body. Once I got a hold of myself I instantly thought, "Now, this was a perfect opportunity to give these guys the bird and AGAIN I hesitated." I know, I know I've been discussing the pros and cons of the finger for way too long. (I suppose this blog will have to be re-titled "The Assessment of the Middle Finger (Colon) It's Complicated" - that was a reference to The Soup - one of the best shows on TV).

Anyway, once I stopped my inner discussion on the finger, I looked ahead and saw the diabolical (I love that word) truck ahead of me stopped at a stoplight. Instantly, I decided these guys didn't deserve the finger, but a good ol' tongue lashing. Immediately, I tucked down and sped to the stoplight. (This is where I would say I sort of "blacked out" because I'm not sure what happened. From what I can gather from the horrified faces inside the truck I must have been pretty "angry.") I remember screaming something like, "Are you kidding me? Are you trying to kill me? Do you think that's funny? Are you both complete idiots?" All my questions were met with a very sheepish 18 year old muttering again and again, "I'm sorry." I think this is sort of where I went a little too far. As I was screaming the stoplight changed to green and they started to inch forward while closing their window. Ahead was a carnival so they had no where to go. Therefore, I took this opportunity to pound on their window and scream, "I'm calling the cops right now and reporting the both of you!"

Now, for those of you who really know me, you know I suffer from a very acute learning disability. Okay, this actually hasn't been officially diagnosed, but I'm terrible with letters and numbers. I just don't remember them and I don't hear them. One summer, as an intern, I had to answer phones for a PR department. People would rattle off their names and numbers and I would write on a piece of paper, "R-O-3-8." (Of course that would be "Rob" "383-6115") Anyway, again this learning disability struck at a very inopportune time. As I was screaming that I was going to call the cops and report them, I was trying to remember the numbers and letters on the license plate. All I had in my little brain was 89B. DAMN YOU UNDIAGNOSED LEARNING DISABILITY!!

Eventually, the truck was able to escape and all I could do was hold my phone out and pretend I was calling the cops. (yes, I was typing 89B). I'm such a loser.

Fortunately, the ride did end on a good note. As I was riding through Venice, I got stopped at a stoplight. While waiting on my bike, a black guy holding a cigar/cigarette (I wasn't sure - It was brown and had a little "mouthpiece" on the front of it) came up to me, and while his girlfriend/wife (with the coolest hot pink extensions I've ever seen) waited, asked, "Hey do you have a light?" A light? Um, yeah, I just lit up a few lights back...hold on a second.

So, friends, I ask: Do I go with the finger or the maniacal ravings, and do I start carrying a lighter? Help a sister out.

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