38 tagged with #pedaling

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Lane Position


Ten vehicles passed me this morning, including one city bus and a work van with a 'Watch for Motorcycles' sticker. One buzzed me fairly close, but on a whole, the traffic I've encountered as of late has maintained a sane berth around me.

I've mostly curbed the habit of flipping off cars that are dicks to me on the road.

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29 April 2014 12:02


Watching


I'm still beating my path into the side of the hill, and with a daily crushing of the blades of grass, slowly, that path becomes evident. The tops and bottoms of the hill have been shorn, but the side is too steep for the common mowing unit; I push my way through the trimmings until my wheel bites into the tread it knows, and dare myself to ride down as slowly as possible. I hug the brakes and lean to keep from tipping forward, and the mothers dropping off their children for daycare flinch in shock when I finally come crashing over the curb in a scattering of toddlers and splashed mud.

An ambulance parks at the end of the road where my running trail exits the park system; I wonder who got hurt, until I notice that the drivers are just idling the truck next to an ashtray so they can smoke. I can't decide what's more ironic: the smoking ambulance driver, or the smoking fire truck driver.

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28 April 2014 17:43


Equinox Waxing


The longer the days grow, the harder it is to talk about doing things when instead I am just doing things.

I am waging a constant battle between healing my fingerskin and shredding it again, and slowly, with each pass of the rope over my palms, more blood and sweat builds into the fibers and it becomes mine. I am playing an endless game of chicken to see if I can pedal harder than my nerves can handle, because I know my nerves will fail before my brakes. Every time my shoes lose their traction in the mud, I experience an infinite span of time in the moment it takes for my ankles to respond and recover my balance. Each sunset that rolls away from me, I breathe in the sky and know I am alive.

The mornings when I don't wake up sore from head to toe, I know I slacked off the day before. I can't stand to sleep or wait or rest because there never seems to be enough time in the day to pummel my way through everything I want to do. I don't feel like there's anything I need to do, and that's a luxury I know I should never take for granted.

I can't wait for the next day, but I'm never in a rush to get there.

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06 April 2014 18:25


Mud Month


Every day, I pass over the same lines, tracing paths that carve slightly deeper into the hillside. A furrow grows where the grass won't, sketched in when the ground was still frozen, and etched once the dirt turned to mud. Just add water. If I deviate slightly, the wheels wobble and threaten to throw me over the bars, and I don't often dare to breathe on my brakes.

I run through mud that splashes up my calves, knowing that my feet will find purchase somewhere beneath the surface. Rarely are my socks dry.

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02 April 2014 21:59


Input


After I chopped off the eds of my bicycle handlebars, I plugged them with the corks from some old bourbon bottles. The corks were just the right size to fill the tube, and the black end caps made neat stoppers for the bar ends. Over the course of a few seasons, the corks expanded and contracted and wiggled and crumbled; one at a time, they fell out. The second one was lost this morning between my garage and my office.

I can hear when cars are unhealthy, and I wonder if their drivers know. The sound of a screaming fan belt deafens me as the car limps past, and I want to catch up at the next intersection, pound on the window, and ask the driver to service his damned engine. I can smell when oil is leaking because it burns acrid smoke that ends up so far behind that no one inside is likely to smell it.

Someone on my block fries garlic, pepper, and onions on a regular basis, and I smell it whenever I bike past. I don't know if anyone who drives past notices.

#daily#pedaling ends. Over the course of a few seasons, the corks expanded and contracted and wiggled and crumbled; one at a time, they fell out. The second one was lost this morning between my garage and my office.

I can hear when cars are unhealthy, and I wonder if their drivers know. The sound of a screaming fan belt deafens me as the car limps past, and I want to catch up at the next intersection, pound on the window, and ask the driver to service his damned engine. I can smell when oil is leaking because it burns acrid smoke that ends up so far behind that no one inside is likely to smell it.

Someone on my block fries garlic, pepper, and onions on a regular basis, and I smell it whenever I bike past. I don't know if anyone who drives past notices.

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31 March 2014 22:41


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