"Bad Coke, No Biscuit!"
And the calvalcade of catastrophes continues! That colourful bit of alliteration aside, yesterday saw more incidents involving inanimate objects trying to usurp my authority on this planet. Now I'm not overly paranoid or anything; I don't live in fear of being subjected to an alien rectal probe, nor do I believe that the second shooter on the grassy knoll was in fact a squirrel trained by the CIA as a sniper. However, yesterday's events give me reason to be suspicious that my bike is nursing some lingering homicidal tendencies.
There I am, biking to work, when I cross over a bridge. It's right about then that the chain on my bike decides it no longer wants to be dragged back and forth along all those gears. It tries to break free, and discovers that, like chickens, it can't fly away to freedom. This proved rather troublesome for me, since the chain is somewhat needed to keep both forward momentum and balance. I'm sure that amidst all the panicked "I-think-I-just-wet-myself!" expressions on my face in those few seconds, I looked very unimpressed.
More than likely, that sort of look occurred when I realized I had to choose between two options as my bike careened wildly in its Jenny-Craig-thin bike lane. I could crash into the curb of the sidewalk, which is higher than most other curbs since it's on a newly-renovated bridge. Or I could crash into the cars driving along next to me. For as tempted as I was to snag that lovely little BMW hood ornament as my hapless body bounced over the bumper, I chose the sidewalk.
The bike manages to do some sort of potentially physics-defying move by sliding sideways with the front and back tires parallel to each other, and both of the bike tires hit the curb at the same time. This is followed by the rest of the bike hitting the sidewalk. That, of course, is followed by the rest of me hitting the sidewalk. Happily, all my gymnastics skills saved my face from going all Phantom of the Opera-ish, and I was able to put my hands out and stop my head from cracking against the concrete with a few inches to spare.
And yes, I am well aware that could have also given way to a substancial hairline fracture of the wrists.
In the end, the chain was scolded severely and rethreaded onto the teeth of the gear, and I managed to make it to work on time, albeit with a slight limp. It's nothing to worry and go, "Oh, does it hurt?", because quite frankly, yes it hurts. It's not a horrible pain, but when you manage to connect the top of your kneecap with the edge of the curb, then hurt will come of it. It's more of an annoyance than anything, and most of that is directed at the bike for letting the chain get so uppity.
Later on that evening, as John & I sat around outside drinking our respective caffeine-enriched draughts, we tried to teach a Coke can to sit/stay. It only listened half the time, but it really seemed to know how to "roll over...and over and over", which does make me optimistic about teaching the Coke can to fetch my a newspaper and slippers in the mornings.
Life-Affirming Link of the Day: http://www.8legged.com/
posted by Phillip at 4:02 PM
