Thursday, September 15, 2005


...was biking today. It was my first time back on my bike since I broke my little toe bone.


Why, when I have two hundred and five other bones, is one, the size of half a roll of dimes, going to give me so much trouble? I hardly noticed the damned thing when it was all right (obviously, or I would not have abused it against the coffee table as I did) and now I notice it all the damned time.


So anyway, today was the first time on my bike in about twoish weeks. Since I rode everyday, then had to stop, this meant a bit of an adjustment. I still cannot ride full out of the saddle for long without getting a bit of a pinch, so I took it easy, going around 19mph for 20 miles.

The leaves are starting to drop and hint at changing, so the path around the lake is aesthetically beautiful. For tiny little bike wheels, however, it is a mess. That didn't bother me so much, though, because I was able to get out and ride. That, after all, is what it's all about.

What DID bother me is the mess of people walking their dogs. I LOVE dogs. I LOVE people. I LOVE people and dogs. But they do not, together, belong on the bike path. It is a bike path. There are separate walking paths, dammit. And doggies, it seems, have this notion that when they see a man dressed in all red, riding a red bike, he must be a fire hydrant. Of course, I am too fast for them to pee on, which must confuse them to the point they want to jump out IN FRONT of me. The pet owners, of course, have no idea this is about to happen, so are of no help when it does. That means I have to play Lance-Armstrong-in-the=Peleton and dodge idiots, canine or otherwise.

Which brings me to the real problem on my ride today. Now, I also LOVE kids. I LOVE people. I HATE parents. Not individually, mind, just as a group or abstract thought.

The manifest of my hate, in this case, was a parent with FIVE, count em, FIVE children on the path with him. That, in and of itself, would be of no consequence. I would rather they were out of doors, even if it meant on my bikepath (sans bikes) than otherwise, as long as they were cared for. This parent, of course, was probably just glad to have them in a space that did not echo when they yelled, and where they were not pulling each others hair. He also, it seemed, needed to walk his dog. AH HA! So here is the trouble. Doggie had to poopie. Human had to watch. That left little humans without supervision just in time for me to round a corner and find them, spread out accrossed the damned path. I had no options, so I went right through where the big human and the little doggie were finishing up their sideshow. That meant I narrowly missed guy, dog, and poop, and rode my ROAD BIKE through NOT ROAD. That made me mad, so I turned to give my meanest "you are stupid" stare at the parent. He, of course, was already giving one at me. AT ME! Can you believe it! He, and his brood of bastard children and Satan spawn dog (listen, I realize the kids were with their dad, rendering that last remark highly unlikely, but it sounded good, so go with it) were in MY WAY, and I had to evade, and he was mad at me!

Now, I don't blame the kids. Obviously they would not be watching where they were going, given the mentoring they had recieved. Nor do I blame the dog. I don't make a habit of being too terribly alert when I am in MY bathroom. So that only leaves two more people to blame, and this time I was in the right.

I know I should not be judging the merits of this parent on one incident, but I will never meet him again, so I may never have the opportunity to judge. I was taught never to waste an opportunity given, so there it is.

The problem is any two asshats, parts corresponding, can get together and make a baby. Then those same asshats get to spend the time messing that baby up until he becomes a little man and then an asshat himself. There ought to be a test before you are allowed to have kids:

QUESTION 1: Are you an asshat?


When I was young I wanted a dog. I spent two months cleaning my room daily, checking in with my homework, mowing, brushing my teeth and wiping up after I spilled to prove to my mother I was responsible enough to care for one.

Maybe this guy should keep the dog for awhile, until he can prove he is responsible enough to move up to more sophisticated dependants.

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