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Friday, August 06, 2010
DeSoto & Back
It's my bachelor weekend, no kids, so I did my Thursday night ride on Friday. I was so tired yesterday I'd have skipped it anyway.
But best laid plans, I put my bike on the rack, picked out my pink flamingo Hawaiian shirt, grabbed my Cambelbak and my Pearl Izumis as I got me and Mo showered, dressed, tooth-brushed, medicated, etc., and managed to get to work without those Pearl Izumis. I swear I had them in my hand on the way to the car, but nope.
So my intention of doing a 30 to 40 mile ride from work went the way of George and Lenny living off the fat of the land.
The route I took, to DeSoto, included an outtake shot from War of the Worlds (or something like it), four identical water towers on the horizon.
I knew a ride from home would mean rednecks in pickups who accelerate loudly and at length to express their dissatisfaction at having to steer their vehicle or even remember it had a brake pedal; it means Daimler mini-SUVs that think it's okay to honk and then pass incredibly close to you even when there's a center lane nobody is using. And I did it anyway.
The one incident I'm not sure what to make of was when I heard a beep-beep horn which startled me (cranking through the country, alone with my thoughts and mainly vigilant to the possibility of big nasty farm dogs). I jumped, and a set of four motorcycles with two riders apiece passed me, and the girl riding bitch on the lead motorcycle was holding a finger up in the air.
I'm pretty sure it was her index finger, and I took it to mean 'We got one,' as in I jumped when they honked. Later, I wondered if she'd been flipping me off.
But for the most part this was a pleasant ride, and I'd probably do it again. I got chased by a couple of dogs along 127th Street, but I didn't get out my pepper spray because I've had cats bigger than these two mutts. They were (especially the black and white Chihuahua) really fast, but as they ran alongside me in the ditch barking repeatedly, they reminded me of fans lining the Tour de France more than any real menace.
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Granny Gear Artist
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