Time: 11:30am

Date: April 30th, year of our Lord 2008

Location: Fresno, California (proof that purgatory as found in Roman Catholicism actually is found in Central California and is loaded with white folks in cars...)

Vehicle being ridden:
'Michigan Miss' (early seventies single speed Raleigh Conversion (single front brake) painted to resemble a Hawker Hurricane Mk II.
-Ancient Brooks Saddle (possibly a b-17)
-air pressure: 60psi rear tire, 62psi front tire.

Attire of rider:
Slightly paunchy...
-Relatively new 'Wal-Mart' Spl. Blue Sweatpants
-Grey Colliccio Construction shirt (from back east, heavy, comfortable)
-Yellow 'step up for a cure' MS walk-athon T
-Black cotton socks
-Faded and torn black low-rise fake 'chuck's
-white bikini briefs with thin blue stripes (go yankees) --I never wear these things, you just don't want anything binding up when you're riding, ya know?
-safety yellow 'Remington' ballcap
-itty bitty granny style mirrored sunglasses
-Zune 850 with REM 'New Adventures in Hi-Fi' playing (moderate volume
-cut off cheapie finger gloves (jersey material)

not showered yet, (this is a exercise situaiton, after all.)

Notice that upon heading up Shaw to Cedar, that traffic was a bit heavy, as well as that the front handlebars seem a bit soft in the neckmount.

Upon arriving at Cedar and Shaw: traffic packs up, forcing me to ride between bikelane (with limo) and first 'regular lane' of shaw.
Riding difficulty increased to 'challanging,' due to severe waves and ruts worn into roadway by busses riding on roadway during infernal hot summer days... (I've seen plenty of guys spill on these things...)

Positioning of self puts self (on bike) between cars
(okay, not bad,)
-then light changes...
-now infront of irate 'soccer-mom' in grey SUV sort of Mini-vannish sort of thing.
-waiting for lane to clear, with woman holding off on overtaking me results in my being able to make way to right side of road (further on shaw than I had wanted, but hey, these things outweigh me by several thousand pounds.)

Soccer mom slows and hollers for me to get off road after letting me pull to right and ride along curb/parking area.
(...thank you soccer mom, I hope you have many fun things to retell to your friends at the pickup site for your pre-schooler or octagenarian, or whatever... '..these jerk cyclists...'

Public note:
Its' a COLLEGE AREA drivers:
-expect to see bicyclists (ESPECIALLY) as fuel is now 4 dollars a gallon. (Something which you are probably not aware of (soccer mom,) as you're probably home most of the time sitting there watching
'Dr. Phil.'
(which is the psych. equivallent of Jerry Springer meets Professional Wrestling, --but with a very steely and cranky seeming wife...
btw?:
NO counsellor worth their salt EVER speaks to the press about a persons mental state (even if that person is Brittney Spears... (schmuck.... I can't believe that they pay that guy.)

Circling around behind some buildings and looping back up onto Cedar (interesting combination:
-Mosque, and a bunch of Frat Houses...
and Marie Calendars (which has the worst service on the planet btw...)

Coming up Cedar, (again in traffic,) wind up playing chicken with another bus.
---okay, that would be if I was in Manhattan.
Actually the bus just waved me through.
(thank you bus: -please contact Soccer Mom and let her know how to behave...)

Riding up Cedar notice something:
-Wind is in my face there too... (heavy-heavy winds... winds so fierce? If they were blowing this heavy, and I was facing them atop my bike just after having wolfed down a burrito, beans and rice from DelTaco? the force of the winds combined would hold me stock still... (not good for greenhouse and other gas -ozone-depletion problems btw.)

Ride Pass a number of co-eds,
Come up to two other guy-cyclists and over hear the comment:
'I'm just not ready for the real world yet.'
(?)
-he looks to be in his early thirties (ridng a specialized)
-both gentlemen look over at my Raleigh,
sort of half snort (I think one of them farted,) to which I just sit and stare, regathering my breathing...

Light changes to green.
African American Gentleman in jeep looks at me to let me go, I wave him on. (African American Gentleman in Jeep, please also contact soccermom and give her what-for.)

Break into comfortable sprint up Cedar:
(Two other bike 'not ready for real life,) weasels stay in far left lane... (me, fearing soccer-moms in minivans stay to right and dodge broken glass, roadwork, and various dead animals and shoes...)

Wait at Cedar and Bullard Use of major intersections by self (bloated bastard that I am) to regain breath and stretch 'cat-like' on traffic corner...
Two college weasels make left and proceed down Bullard...

Lights change suitalbly, and I'm off down one of the few area hills (it's more of a minor swale down the pavement, but I'll take it...

Dodge Spanish speaking, assumed Mexican gentlemen with leaf blowers and edge-trimmers, ---as well as low-hanging branches...
Envy their work truck, as it's probably only got a small block or a six, and mine has a 390 and gets only seven miles per gallon.

Am reminded how cool 'New Adventures in Hi-Fi' really is as an album, and think 'It is good to have had the Band REM to listen to all these years...'
Feel nostalgic, but not old.

Pedal down towards Bullard and First, moderate traffic going by.

Notice: AGAIN strong headwind
(that's what... three different directions all with the wind blowing heavily in my face... which, considering the size of my upper body and seating position... feel like I'm trying to push against the side of an Amish Cow-Barn and move it twenty feet closer to Ohio...)

Decide the constant windshift is not God trying to tell me something or any sign of His displeasure, but merely that this town could be completely of the devil and that minor 'weather demons' are toying with me...
Problem is: I don't believe in 'weather demons...'

Admire gorgeous weather.
Resume praying... (I do this a lot.)

Proceed to stop (lights) at Bullard and First...
Cross suitably with lights, remark to self
'...you're getting old, you're getting soft, this town has nothing significant in the form of traffic, (compared to Philly, NY, or Jersey,) --and yet you don't challange traffic or act like a motorist anymore... what is wrong with you...?
it's a girl, isn't it...'
--Proceed to argue with self in gront of motorists while backpedaling (it's a single speed, not a fixie, -so my 'track-stands' arent what they used to be (lied) about...)

Head down First towards Barstow...
(again Fierce Headwind... perhaps this is God afterall trying to tell me something...)

Notice something odd about Left Pedal...
Look down while riding forward, (Pedal falling apart? perhaps? it's a bike that is probably 40 years old... Huh, weird...)

Then realize that pedal is backing out of crank... (bummer.)
Then realize (after dismounting and standing on grass trying to rethread pedal with fingers) ---it's way cross-threaded... (bummer-buggar-bummer.)

Proceed with pronounced pedalling on right side, to Barstow, limp bike across Repaving (?) to gas-station.

Ask mechanic if you can bum an adjustable of 'em to tighten pedal...
-He loans a 15mm, (fits nicely,) but alas, despite 'rethreading from the other side,' ---pedal will not properly rethread... (bummer-buggar-blast-buggar-buggar...)

Thank friendly mechanic(s) and pedal off down road using only R/Side Pedal and L/Side Crank arm (while holding L/pedal (loose) in R/hand...
(note, bike has only one brake and it's on the L/side of the (flipped,) handlebars..
This makes me a bicycling god... though a lesser god, as I am simply improvising under duress, and see a LOT of my friends of the Mexican persuasion on their bikes go through all sorts of malady, ---and never complain nor think that they've accomplished something significant by simply getting down the road...

Still:
(...I have skills... Somebody go call the Soccer Mom and tell her that I have skills... that these are difficult to explain skills while writing, but skills nonetheless...)

Proceed down
(mostly on sidewalk... I'm such a badass...)
actually, I'm limping this crate home, so I'm not up for a lot of fiddling about with sedans, minivans and trucks...)

Make it past busstop down to corner of First and Shaw...

At this time realize (yes wind is still blowing.) -that negotiating a major intersection with a bike that has only one pedal may not be such a good idea.
Proceed anyway.
Wind up (crossing First from lower shaw,) simply wheeling bike on back wheel across traffic...

Proceed down Shaw towards residence, (again, wind blowing in face... (that's 4 for 4...)
-At this point?
Consider that bike may be cursed as it has the name of former girlfriend painted down one fork (it's a fighter-plane thing...)

Contemplate changing name of bike...
-but think about it further, incase (former) girlfriend comes around thinking about being (current) girlfriend once again and says:

'...hey, why did you change the name on your Hurricane Bike???'

um, well, uh...
'...because it was depressing,
you no longer loved me,
I wanted to crawl under a rock and die,
and besides,
you were making soccer moms in town almost run me over,
and the wind blow in my face from all four directions at once with your former girlfriend superpowers...'

Consider (briefly,) that the college weasels who are prolonging their adolescence by 'not facing real world,' may actually be somewhat better off...
-but then realize that they probably have no lives (besides academic ones,) and spend their off hours, like studying or getting drunk...

--They probably wear 'cycling' shorts as well,
--which, to me, are the height of 'fagginess,'
(note:
this is NOT a slur against those who fancy their own gender,
THIS is a connotation that certain fashions, no matter how comfortable and 'sport specific,' are just plain too faggy and unnacceptable in apperance and will never be employed to cover (yours truly's) hairy padunkus... Nossir...)
--Though a good friend of mine (who was way-gay) used to wear lycra when he was cycling and he looked like some sort of euro-god on a cannondale...)

Besides, I'm too fat. Lycra isn't me.

--They probably shave their legs too...
(not men who prefer men,,,)
-these two college guys who should have graduated a long time ago...
(Hmmm... on second thought...
I'm 44 and still don't have my bachelors... yet...)

Okay... we'll let them have that...

Proceed down small (drug selling lower income dangerous (most of the time) street towards house...
-Narrowly avoid two soccer moms standing on sidewalk outside of 'wee-kinder-care' facility... (what IS it with these soccer moms???)

Make it home...

Proceed to enjoy endorphin rush and wheel bicycle into kitchen, place pedal on counter and Nuke the following:

Ravioli (4cheese) with Marie Calendars sauce (it's cheap, but it's good,) and Trader Joes 'Turkey,' Meatloaf...

While sitting there, still half panting and drinking a bucket of water, consider the following:

Trader Joes:
-Good food, but way way way too 'alt.' in appearance... (we've talked about this before.)

-You see people of all ages there shopping, and most of them look really good, (you know, in good health... -beware of the silent 'Prius,' lady who's always looking to run you over (not the Soccer Mom, -this would be the Soccer Mom's grandmother...)
--but overall, realise:
When you are shopping at Trader Joes?
-You are on stage.
-You are 'being seen at Trader Joes.'
-You see young people wearing different sorts of attire, who are really cute
--but are half your age and probably are so 'green and vegan,' that if you even went out with them (when you were their age,)
-that they'd see you chomping a burger on the hood of a truck at a stockcar race and think that you are the anti-Christ, (IF they were religious...)
-Maybe these days they'd think you were the Anti-Dahli-Lama or something... Idunno...

Then:
There are a lot of people shopping there who are (currently,) my age, and a lot of them women and quite attractive...
-but you never ever ask out somebody from 'going there,'
--why?
Because it's EXPECTED...
it's like being on stage to begin with, you're standing there, with your little basket, sizing up the mid-eastern whatzis salad and 'turkey' lasagna-polenta-basil-dried something or other...

---and everybody is there thinking the same thing:
'...I'm here shopping at Trader Joes, I'm here shopping at Trader Joes...'
-and it's unnatural..
it's not relaxed,
it's everybody being 'earthier than thou' and all 'hip' and stuff...
And it's like a woodstock foodstand with a corporate tradmark next to the peace-sign... ya know?

(Besides I'm standing there listening to Def Leppard on my headphones, (...I rue the day I walk in listening to Billy Squire...)
I'd listen to more Joni Mitchell when I'm in there, but I'd peg the states 'cliche'-o-meter.'

And if you go to ask anyone out... it's all like
'...Hey TRADER JOOOOESSSS, HEYYYY,
'I'm buying my Dr. Bronners Soap....'
'How would you like to go to the... the.... the...'
(hmm...
you draw a blank...)

...'so and so is playing their band over at the whatzis for hemp and it's earthday and is that PATCHOULLI you're wearing???...'
Lets go eat whole Grains!!!)
You have to think:
'70's single-bar pickup up lingo'
(only you don't say
'..what's your sign...')
...Huh Wait a minute...
You know what?
'What's our sign?' probably would work...

And some guy about five to ten years older than me is checking me out...
(which
If I was a girl...
I'd probably not be too bothered, I dunno...)

... but middle aged men checking out THIS middle aged man, when I simply want to buy some food and pay for overpriced pastry???,
(while listening to Def Leppard,)

shopping is ALL I'm up for at the moment there, tiger,,,
besides,
-you're a dude. -and I"m not into dudes, SORRY...
go-way.
(and STOP freakin' squeezing the tomatoes and looking at me with your nostrils flared...)

...I'm actually sort of noticing
the neo-hippy sedan cruising (maybe) compassionate Republican over there who's checking up the frozen cactus and squid chips...
(Woman, light in stature, heavy on character (in a quiet sort of way,) and light on the make-up...
(rrrrrraaahrowwrrr...)

But will say NOTHING.

Because:
It's Trader Joes...

and everybody is standing there seeing and being seen,
and asking anyone out is kind of like doing it IN THE SPOTLIGHT

IN FRONT of
somebody on the register who's just itching to know
'how I'm doing today,'
'how yummy the food is going to be.' (yes, I've had grown men behind the register use the word 'yummy.' (like we're all standing around wearing Dr. Dentons and holding velveteen rabbits with the sniffles or something...
and
'what's on the headphones today?'

'...oh, today I'm listening to the recordings of baby-seals being clubbed...'

-'Just kidding...
It's Def Leppard...'
(Which they'll think is the same thing...)
'...oh hey that's great, either way, you're involved with the environment...'

And the cute cactus-chips-and-squid 30-40 something,(wearing very exciting sandals..)
(who's probably closer to 50,(
no problem, I"m five years off the half century m'self...)
(who smells nice and has that nice 'inner glow,' sort of thing going on.....)
-will hear 'Def Leppard,'

and think I'm still stuck in HighSchool,
you know,
mentally or something...)
-The fake torn up black 'chucks,' and the 'HotWheels' T-Shirt will confirm it in her mind...
(that and the fact that I was standing there sort of banging my head to 'Photograph,' playing air-guitar with a bottle of Kefir...
(though I'm not nearly as pronounced as that guy up on Blackstone and Minarettes....)

It's okay, actually...

I'm still in love with the girl who's name is painted on the Right fork of the bike...

The one (the bike) who's pedal is off and standing against the kitchen counter.

The one (the girl)who drives her SUV like an escaped mental patient, who has kids in sports (but not soccer, actually.)

The one who must be thinking of me...
because the wind is blowing in my face in every direction.
-who, when I hear
'Tiny Dancer,' with the smell of dinner being prepared...
I begin to cry.

(I need to get a couple of soda's and bring them to the nice mechanics who at least let me borrow their wrenches to try to put the pedal back on...)

I need to take a shower.
While listening to 'Photograph,'
really loud.
REALLY Loud...

(Which is fine...
I mean, there's already a whole bunch of cop cars and ambulances tearing along the road...)

And
Once I get my 'hep-series' for school?

I'm going to get a tattoo:

'...I refuse to die in Fresno...'