I promise people: The next posting I make will be poetic and positive. But for now, I’m opening the door of my hurt locker to allow you to look within. It is a desperate grasp for commonality that I can’t find in the people I see today. My hope in humanity is at an all time low.
I was in the area’s only bike shop yesterday, buying some brake pads for the ONE bike I’ve been hired to repair in the 7 weeks I’ve had a flyer up. (and there is NO bike ship in Mt. Vernon, only a ski shop) A guy was thinking about buying one of those TREK hybrid bikes and I said: “That one is a really good one because it had clearance for fenders.” He said:
“Why would I want to put fenders on a bike?”
[meaning: I don’t ride in the rain]
I hate this place. I am not making a negative commentary about an overall good experience. It sucks ass in Count Vermin. I’m in a lonely, alienated existence, which is dotted with a few simple joys like taking Lance out for a run to town on Sunday (the only day it’s not CRAZY traffic) and enjoying my coffee at the cafe before I go to the very enjoyable, quiet and warm law library (my house is neither).
It may make no difference to complain about this, but I’m incredulous as I climb the hill on the way over to the I5 overpass, being passed by one after another after another car as I get to inhale the fumes of their ill tuned engines (cheap to the point of total falsehood) and I ask, at the top of my lungs:
“Why doesn’t anyone here RIDE A BIKE?” I cannot answer that. I can only continue my careful preparations to leave, and make the case for bicycles where I am not the only fucking person doing it.by