|
| |
Don't Walk on the Ice
With Your Hands in Your Pockets
by John Beverly, CBC President 2000
I seem to be suffering from writers block this month. In fact I seem to
be suffering from a lot of blocks this month. I thought about having Daisy rerun the
"Cheap Sunglasses" story, but decided not to shirk, so I plopped myself, with a
cold one, in front of the computer and figured I would share another embarrassing episode
of my life. I can always fall back on that, since I seem to have a lot of them.
It hasn't been the most productive month of my life, but I am really
looking forward to the Tanasi Festival, to revitalize the fall portion of 2000. I will be
bringing my 12 year old son with me. He will be trying out clipless pedals for the first
time. I remember my first time on clipless pedals. (Here is where the screen fades to a
distant murky memory, when it gets out of focus around the edges and harps start playing
in the background as I narrate.) Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away, I bought my
first real road bike. (The first one didn't count. It was a Schwinn Le Tour and weighed at
least 35 lbs. and that was 25 years ago. You didn't know I was that old did you? Flatter
me and say yes.) It was only a few years ago that I adopted my brightly colored Cannondale
from the Owen adoption agency. (What a good baby it has been.) I rode the bike on my first
club ride, wearing a T-shirt with my bike shorts and had toe clips on the pedals. We rode
seventy miles and I nearly died. Colleen and the ride leader had to baby sit me for the
last fifteen miles. I learned, then, not to wear a T-shirt on a long bike ride. Colleen
made sure to say, "I told you so, Naaa, na, Naaa, na, Naaa, na." The very next
day, I stopped by the bike shop and bought a bike shirt that would breath properly, and
got talked into a set of clipless pedals and shoes. (I was a mountain biker, but I had
been a holdout for clipless for so long, due to my conservative, conservationist, never
give in, liberal, middle of the road, republican, bleeding heart, left of right, tree
hugger, pry my gun from my cold dead hands, democrat, die by the constitution mentality.)
Before I go any further, I have to tell you about living in Montana. It
is cold there. Very, very cold and there is a lot of winter. I mean a lot! Ice is a way of
life. Walking on it, driving on it and chipping it from the steps of your porch. Sometimes
even using dynamite to clear the sidewalk. (just kidding, though a few times I would have
been willing to try) The first thing you learn, when you move to Montana, is never EVER
walk on the ice with your hands in your pockets. I had never really thought about that
before, but it seemed like reasonable logic. If you fall, then you can't catch yourself,
right? Sure enough, one day while sitting outside the door of K-mart, a guy comes walking
out, right in front of my car, with his hands in his pockets. He slid down the wheelchair
ramp, on his butt. I died laughing. He looked like a penguin, with his feet cycling 100
miles an hour, trying desperately to catch himself. However, it was fruitless, because
down he went, hands bound to his sides. He looked like he had been body slammed by Hulk
Hogan.
Back to the previous memory. I remember my first Thursday night ride,
which happened to be my first ride with clipless pedals and my second ride on my new
aluminum steed. We had stopped in front of the pink house for a short break. I was talking
to someone. I think it was Tom Baker, but I didn't know him at the time and can't remember
for sure. Like an idiot, I had kept my right shoe clipped and was balancing on left foot.
In mid sentence, now picture this, while demonstratively exaggerating my point to my new
acquaintance, I started leaning farther and farther back, (you know where this is going,
don't you. Maybe you've been there), until, finally, I went down, just like the guy in the
parking lot at K-Mart. I instantly flashed back to that moment. I have always wondered
what the person with whom I was talking that day, in front of the pink house, thought of
that incident, but I honestly can't remember who it was. I think I have a traumatic memory
loss from embarrassment. Whoever it was, would you please call me so I can put this issue
to rest.
So, the moral of the story and the advice I will give my son is, never
walk on ice with your hands in your pocket and when you stop your bike, unclip BOTH
pedals. There are some other things on which I will advise him during his life, like women
and drugs and smoking and things like that, but I really think this might be some of the
most practical advice I can offer him, or anyone else for that matter. He'll ignore the
other advice and screw it up anyway, but I think I can get him to listen to this. In fact,
I might even stage a demonstration at the Tanasi Festival, so someone have a splint ready
in case I break my arm trying to get the point across.
Send e-mail to ChattBike@aol.com
and let me know how things are going. I would really love to hear from you, whether it
pertains to biking or if you just need advice about your love life. My new phone number is
423/876-1325.
|
