Today when I was biking in the wind beside a field of threshed hay, I was trying to have "amber waves of grain" type thoughts. I was trying to direct my imagination at the world before the hay bale and to consider narratives about little prairie runts sliding down hay stacks like they were pre-industrial Six Flags (but without the weird Looney Tunes affiliation). Perhaps I could even have been contented with some Willa Cather-ish notions with plows [read: hard working men] silhouetted against the setting sun [read: death of the Mid-Western farming community] or the young widows of Civil War veterans selling their beauteous meadows to support their frivolous life style [read: oh, Willa Cather]. But try as I might, I just kept thinking: That is some ugly burnt grass, and biking in the wind is unfathomably annoying.
Now, don't get me wrong, I love riding my bike. I consider the rediscovery of the bike as one of the most valuable lessons I've learned here at my venue of higher education. Being the sort of person who hates driving and fears the bus [I once sat down in the seat kept symbolically vacant for the ghost of Rosa Parks on Rosa Parks Day and got told off by the bus driver] biking is a preferable alternative. I'm currently cruising on a teal-with-purple flecks Huffy road bike with dysfunctional gears but very nice tires and generally have a pleasant time wheeling about...when it is not windy.
As much as I like biking, however, I can't seem to get over my distaste for bikers. You know, the sort of people with more than one helmet (matchy, matchy), a spare tire attached to their backpack and are always yelling things like "On your right!"
What, pray tell, is a normal person supposed to respond to "On your right!"?
Because I am a polite person, I feel that some response is required. Unfortunately, because I am a both a polite and a nervous person, I can't think on the fly. So, I usually end up tentatively saying "okay...thanks" long after the fiercely peddling helmeteer has glided past. As I duck my head and peddle sluggishly on in shame, I console myself that my awkward response probably rolled right off of their sleek spandex torso, unheard.
So today in the wind along the field of hella burnt threshed grass, I thought about how people fall into threshers and get all ground to bits and when some chick in a camouflage sandals gave me the "On your right!" I just gave her a knowing glance.
Now, don't get me wrong, I love riding my bike. I consider the rediscovery of the bike as one of the most valuable lessons I've learned here at my venue of higher education. Being the sort of person who hates driving and fears the bus [I once sat down in the seat kept symbolically vacant for the ghost of Rosa Parks on Rosa Parks Day and got told off by the bus driver] biking is a preferable alternative. I'm currently cruising on a teal-with-purple flecks Huffy road bike with dysfunctional gears but very nice tires and generally have a pleasant time wheeling about...when it is not windy.
As much as I like biking, however, I can't seem to get over my distaste for bikers. You know, the sort of people with more than one helmet (matchy, matchy), a spare tire attached to their backpack and are always yelling things like "On your right!"
What, pray tell, is a normal person supposed to respond to "On your right!"?
Because I am a polite person, I feel that some response is required. Unfortunately, because I am a both a polite and a nervous person, I can't think on the fly. So, I usually end up tentatively saying "okay...thanks" long after the fiercely peddling helmeteer has glided past. As I duck my head and peddle sluggishly on in shame, I console myself that my awkward response probably rolled right off of their sleek spandex torso, unheard.
So today in the wind along the field of hella burnt threshed grass, I thought about how people fall into threshers and get all ground to bits and when some chick in a camouflage sandals gave me the "On your right!" I just gave her a knowing glance.
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