Nothing looks like this, not lately.

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This week: grey, rain, rain, rain, grey. With recently broken bones and my still-smashed right hand, I’m tempted to sound like one of those people who acts like crappy weather was invented just for suffering and just for their suffering at that.  It doesn’t feel good.

However, in search of better times and making the best of what’s left of autumn, Mrs. P. and I will venture to our very favorite bookstore and perhaps have dinner somewhere in Charles Village, Hampden or Roland Park.  I will have a waterproof messenger bag, so treasures will make it home unscathed.  At least it’s going to be in the upper 50s/lower 60s.  I hate when it rains just shy of the freezing point.  Unless I’m cycling.  I do get a kick out of that.

Curiously, Normal’s is on 31st Street, where I blew a spoke last Sunday and had to miss the ride I’d spent so much time helping to plan.  Much better tidings today, I think.

My bike is out of commission currently.  Yes, breaking a rear spoke on the drive side can make your wheel no longer turn without hitting the frame.  No, this does not, as has been suggested, make me a wimp or perfectionist.  It’s a matter of my understanding bike wheels, at least a little bit.  Plus, there’s the empirical smack-your-ass part where my wheel literally does not turn.  The shop will take care of it; it’s under warranty.  It’s a good excuse to visit my favorite bike shop.

I need to get some new books and spend quality time with the Mrs. and our little belly/Baby.  As if it’s not obvious, I’m growing increasingly less patient with people’s bullshit.  A nice walk usually helps a lot.

Hot Jamis.

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Got to take a short ride with my two bike pals yesterday. It was hot, and we were on a tight time budget, but it was a blast. We only rode about 12 miles, but it kicked my ass around a little. In my defense, I haven’t been riding regularly for three months. I had just re-spoked Zack’s rear wheel, trued both and patched a tire. Wouldn’t you know that at the end of the ride, when we were standing around talking, the HIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS of a blown tire interrupted us? We had ice water and enjoyed some AC in my apartment. Then we fixed it up over beers.  Had it not blown, I would probably have gone home alone and taken a shower and read for a while.  Having some beer and working on bikes was much better.  Not a bad way to spend the afternoon!

Independence Day 2009.

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This year, it’s independence from NOT cycling.  This is a teaser of my new bike, with rack, fenders, lights, computer, sitting in my office.  Until I go get it tomorrow/Sunday, now that my new helmet is here!

Old Independence Day posts:
2008
2007

Like Christmas, almost.

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My new bike has been sitting in my office since Friday, since I was stupid enough to wait too long to order my new helmet. My new tires, rack, fenders, lights, tubes, kickstand and computer are here, too. It smells like rubber when I come in every morning.  And it’s so…tempting to just go riding.  But, you know, I haven’t had the greatest luck lately.  Working on my accessories at lunchtime is fun, but I have a lunch meeting today.  Boo.

My new bike is in.

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But I don’t have a photo yet.  This photo is of a pipe-cleaner bike I made at my VISTA training in August.  It stands on the jacket dealy from a cup of  coffee I was drinking at the time.  It resides in my office.

I picked the Novara Buzz V for a number of reasons.  It’s simple and practical.  I like the low-fi looks and anti-theft aspects like locking skewers and no quick-release anything.  It has custom fenders.  It’s STEEL.  It was in the price range of the insurance money I got for the wrecked bike.  I really, therefore, paid for it in September 2005 when I bought my first bike, which was replaced with insurance money when it got stolen in fall 2006.  The insurance folks paid for the lights, fenders, rack, computer, etc.  Everything that got destroyed  but my helmet.  I was buying a new helmet anyway, so I didn’t want to go after them for that.

The biggest “fault” I’ve noticed so far is that the paint is junk.  It’s matte and flakes off.  Mine has several chips already from the trip from the factory to REI, and the one locked near the train station looks like it’s been through a wood chipper.  I suppose this is to make it less steal-able?  Or just a consequence of the matte finish?  I feel like I should be annoyed that my shiny new bike is not perfect (or shiny).  But you can’t get a perfect bike.  I know that for sure now.  And bikes get scratched up when you ride them.  Even if you got a perfect bike, it would eventually get dinged up if you rode it.  I was being stupid, yes.  Thing is, you don’t care when you’re riding regularly.  I’m not.

But screw it.  I refuse to be a prisoner of my own neurotic and compulsive tendencies.  I always need all my shit to be perfect.  Forever.  Like you can buy perfectly-crafted goods.  And like you can use them without wear and tear.  Nah, if I resist the urge to be a stupid jackass, I feel particularly…invited to put some stickers on now.  I still have some that my cycling pal sent me in 2005 when I first got into cycling.  It’s all good.  In a few weeks, I’ll be riding my bike and laughing at the witty stickers on it.

We did have a bit of an adventure to get it, though.

Tuesday, I had an early appointment with my hand doctor and a big meeting all afternoon.  It was already a weird day.  I wanted REI to leave my bike in the box so that I would not be tempted to ride before I’m physically ready and get hurt again.  But they couldn’t, and it came in Tuesday, rather than Friday.  Our glasses were also ready early.  So I walked from near Penn Station to Charles Village after work, met the Mrs., walked to the Rotunda, got our glasses and walked to the light rail.  Took it out to Timonium, walked to Baja Fresh and ate amidst sad yuppies.  Walked to REI.  Picked up my bike, some spare inner tubes and an under-the-seat bag.  Walked to the light rail and took my bike on it.  Walked about a mile home.  So my bike’s first trip was on a train and being walked.  Not as cool as being ridden, but much cooler than coming home in a car or truck.

Memorable night, though.  And I would be a douchebag to let such a fun-ly-gotten bike be less awesome because it wasn’t perfect when perfection wasn’t even possible.

Perhaps by airing these stupid mind-fucks I play on myself, I can kick them?

In other news, after we got home, we went shopping for prenatal vitamins for Mrs. P.  (More on that later, of course).

“That’s why I don’t ride a bike.”

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I can’t tell all of the ignorant things some people have said to me since the bike accident, to complement all the very nice and very sweet words and well-wishes and gifts of candy and company from very good people I am lucky enough to know. In addition to people who have been very very nice to me, there is a whole platoon of people have taken it upon themselves to help me reform and understand my face-plant better with completely unsolicited advice. Indeed, even in defeat, there are insistent cycling-nay-sayers. A few:

1) One person, when my face was still leaking liquids and looked twice as nasty as this picture, said, “You gotta be careful out dere on dem bikes.”
No shit? Wow. Guess when I heal, I’ll have to stop riding stoned and with my eyes closed. I mean, seriously, nice way to fucking blame me for what happened without having ever seen me ride or even know what the hell caused the crash. And P.S. — “you” don’t ride anyway, so what do you know?

2) “I worry about you on that bike.”
Thanks, but, looking at the statistics and remembering driving a car, I worry about you in your car. (I don’t actually mind that one so much.)

3) The one I’ve heard the most and the one that makes me maddest: “That’s why I don’t ride a bike.”
Oh. Now. Where to begin?
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What do you mean by “that“? Do you mean my injured limbs? The cuts I had? Not being able to ride for weeks and missing some awesome bike-related events? Or do you mean my wrecked bike by “that”? Maybe “that” means what it feels like when what stops your body from a speed of 25-27 miles per hour is the friction of your body hitting the ground and skidding to a halt, leaving half on your lip and pieces of your face on the cement? Do you mean that? Or maybe the sound it makes, i.e., a helmet hitting and scraping the visor off and grating metal?

Nah. I know you, and I know what “that” means when you say to me, “That’s why I don’t ride a bike.”

It could mean your own fear of riding in traffic. Well, guess what? I was not hit by a car. To my knowledge, there were no moving cars around me. Nor was I riding in the street. I was on the bike trail, and I hit an unmarked pipe, just small enough to not see in time big but enough for a poopy crash. In Baltimore, no one could get away with having that shit out in the street at 8:30 in a Wednesday morning. Certainly, getting hit by a car is a risk we all take. But in this case, when you look at me and say, “That’s why I don’t ride a bike,” that is irrelevant.

It could your own being in bad shape. But if you know me, you know I’m not exactly in shape, and I have a big ass to prove it — not to mention the belly I carry for someone my age. Being in less than great shape is a strange reason not to cycle.  I am in terrible shape and look like, even in (HA!) peak riding condition.

It might mean your lack of interest. That’s cool. You don’t have to be into cycling. I’m not into driving my ass around in a car. But do you need to state your interests when I wreck? I mean, I never told someone hurt in a car accident, “Damn, that’s why I don’t have a car. Those fuckin things are deadly.”

I don’t know why I’m so pissed off at this phrase being repeated to me. It feels like a judgment on one hand – like that I’m engaging in what amounts to dangerous behavior just by riding my bike for transportation. That’s annoying enough. But it also feels like people are working out or venting some of their own issues on me (paranoia, bad fitness habits, being left out of the cycling craze, etc.). These people are making my own traumatic experience (not to throw that term around) about them.

For the record, no one I know who has gotten on a bike to go somewhere in the last few years has said anything like that. Instead, there are well-wishes — like from my nicest non-cycling friends. I am lucky to have nice people all around me. To be sure, it’s not a matter of cycling or not cycling. It’s something else.  And I know it’s not me.

Stab winter for St. Patty.

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I am very ready for winter to be over.  I generally like it.  There are past instances on this blog where I was angry at a lack of winter.  I like wearing sweaters and flannel and cuddling up with the Mrs at night to watch movies, read and sleep.  Cycling when water freezes to your face is exhilarating, if for no other reason, for the looks of amazement you get from other people.  Longjohns are their own unique experience when you have them on under your work pants with nothing under them.
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Maybe it’s barreling downhill for four miles every morning and getting watery eyes from the wind or my being tired of not being able to wear sandals sans socks.  Or of coming home from community meetings at seven or eight in the dark.  Maybe I’m tired of the bleak landscape on my way to work through the Jones Falls Valley and out of my window on University Parkway.  But I’m really ready for spring now.

I haven’t actually gotten tired of winter since 2003, when I lived in Boston and didn’t blog yet.  It was a particularly bad winter, full of blizzards and April snow.  St. Patty’s day that year was 70 degree weather, with students at Boston College sitting around talking in tanktops next to mountains of snow still piled up.  I remember wearing flip-flops and crunching on snow that April and wearing a jacket in May and June a few times.
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There was snow on the ground two years ago for St. Patty’s Day, too, after a January that was so warm that plants were budding the week after New Year’s Day.  I guess it could be worse.  I get to work from home this morning for afternoon meetings and can probably get away with sandals later, if I’m willing to have cold feet, which I am.

I have a fridge full of Irish stout, cabbage, homemade soda bread from the Mrs and Irish music.  What, you haven’t heard the new U2 album yet?  It’s excellent.

I watched 4 movies this weekend.

I used to watch a solid 2 films every weekend, when I lived in a boring town in Illinois.  Don’t watch them so regularly these days.  It was good to lounge this weekend, and Mrs. P was sick.  My freakin legs hurt by last night, though, from not moving.  Felt good to cycle in the snow this morning, before it died out.  I’m looking forward to cycling in the snow tomorrow, though I have to work until 9 pm, so it might not be the best idea.

Saw Obama.

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I made it to see Obama Saturday. It was amazing.

We bundled up, mounted our bikes and met a co-worker and fellow Nation Service member and walked down. We waited in line for about an hour or an hour and a half and then made it to the metal detectors. Everything went very smoothly, save me having to get wand-ed, even after removing all my metal and AmeriCorps pins. We got some Donna’s hot chocolate and found good spots, maybe a third of the way from the front. Considering that we didn’t get to the event area until nearly noon, I thought that was pretty good. I was mildly afraid that we weren’t going to get in.

At any big public event, a lot of folks are rude and butt in front of one another and hold their cameras up in front of people’s faces, etc. I think this was less widespread that day, or, at least, people weren’t so militant about it. (One note though: owning an SLR does not make you a Photographer and does not mean you can be a jerk. The dudes next to me were screwing over the people behind them during the whole speech holding multiple large cameras over their heads, and all their photos were poorly composed and blurry from what I could see on their LCD. Wankers. All that gear, and you still can’t take good pictures.)

But. Yeah. OBAMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There were people there from all over. I was afraid it would be the Roland Park crowd or just students, etc. But no. The mix of people was fantastic and, frankly, unusual for a sometimes-self-segregated Southern city like Baltimore. In itself, it was worth the cold and lack of coffee.

Anything would have been worth standing in a crowd of Baltimoreans and hearing Barack Obama stand up and shout, “Hello, Baltimore!” I get chills and tear-up a little thinking about it. I’m listening to the Inaugural events on NPR right now, and I’m still thinking about seeing Obama in my city this past weekend.

There were a lot of bikes around, but mine was in my office. I wished I’d brought it closer to brag about riding in the cold. But I think anyone who was outside deserved credit and could brag about the chill we all braved Saturday. But it was so worth it, I think it was more about the benefit and less about bravery.

I am wearing a blue and white flannel under a red sweater today. Rode in the snow to get to work. It’s a good day.

Photo Friday: Iconic.

OMG, mega cold commute.

The windchill was -2 this morning when I left.  Not counting the chill of riding downhill four miles to work.  Not as cold as some parts of the country.  But very very very cold for Maryland, where our summers are beastly.  It was awesome.  Read more.

Thanking the Hanes gods for longjohns.

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I got drenched earlier this week riding my bike to work in all that rain. I mean like hanging my clothes to dry drenched. It was awesome.  My new fenders kept most of the slosh and slush and sludge off of me and off of my drivetrain.

But I was still looking forward to the sunny, clear and cold weather of yesterday and today. I had on very warm winter cycling gloves, a puffy vest, scarf, flannel or sweater and LONGJOHNS. Yes, longjohns. Rather than getting home with pink and chapped and stingy legs, I get home toasty and warm and happy and full of fuzzies because they are new.  And my hips smell like ink from the dye.

Of course I also sit in my office with very warm legs, which is very strange.  Especially if you’re a hairy man like me.  And you know you’re not supposed to wear anything under longjohns, right?  When your underwear touches your socks, it feels like you’re (to quote Ned Flanders) “wearin nothin at all!”  I’m not exactly into that, uh, ahem, lack of support.  It’s very odd.

Totally worth it to be able to cycle through a winter which is certainly colder than some places, but not quite New England or Upper Midwest either.

Rider status indicates that there are still in fact some cyclists in Baltimore who are, uh, brave/crazy enough to ride through the winter.  I’m not alone, and I don’t want to be.  Even when it’s raining and 35 degrees, there were folks out.

Possible fun joint ride Sunday.  If you’re in Baltimore, comment here and come!

Always new stuff.

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I guess it’s sometimes a post-holiday or back-to-school thing, where you have a bunch of new stuff all at once.  Maybe I just don’t shop a lot.  I don’t know.  But I rode to work this morning with a new Thermos of coffee in my backpack with my new planner, a new book, wearing a new vest, new socks, new gloves and being kept dry by new fenders.  The only thing I bought was the planner and the book, and those were to fill voids left by an old planner and all the books I’ve already read.  I feel spoiled somehow, like I don’t have the right to be toting around all this shiny new shit that I didn’t buy but instead just took out of a gift box.  The people I care about do give me some wonderful presents.  So maybe I am spoiled in a way.

And of course having a bunch of new stuff makes a lot of people (myself included) re-examine their relationship to material possessions.  I really love my new gloves and fenders and Thermos, but it’s the cycling in winter weather and not dropping five bucks a day to have good coffee at work thing that I really like.  I suppose that’s a healthy relationship to gear, right?  Using it?

I do have the tendency to pet my things though and often get very upset when a new scratch joins the dozens of others on my bike or when dust gets under the screen cover of my camera.  Then I think about my bike and not riding and my camera and not taking pictures.  Then, as Tyler Durden would say, the things I own end up owning me.

I’ve always struggled to have a healthy relationship to possessions, my body, my health.  You can’t just ignore your pains or bike maintenance, but you can’t get attached to them, either.  Tricky, I tell you.  Tricky.

Photo Friday: Meditation.

Where is my Christmas spirit?


I think I’ve been not much in the holiday spirit because I haven’t been shopping much at all.  And also work business.  But I think it’s largely a lack of shopping.  What?

Christmas came early for my bike though.  The seatpost clamp that is not QR doesn’t fit, but that’s Okay.  The seatpost does, and the saddle’s on, too.  The stitching is wacky on my seat.  But.  Whatever.  At least I can ride it today.  While staring at my maimed bike all last week across my desk made me ache to defy death in traffic, The Duke sitting here while I work has made me excited today for the chance to ride home.  For all it’s annoying quirks and imperfections, I do love my bike.

I think that my old (stolen) bike got me out of my car and into the fun world of getting around without four wheels.  This bike was under my butt when I really got into cycling in traffic and to get places that people look at me funny for riding to, like weddings, job interviews and community meetings in questionable neighborhoods.

There have been times I’ve badmouthed it myself, for all its hyrbid dorkiness, but I’d be beside myself if someone stole this one.

So he’s coming to the office with me until my workplace threatens me.  And I’m prepared to fight them, given what little anyone does to prevent bike theft these days.  (Though a UB detective tells me that they are getting siren locks to lend folks….)

Sumbitch stole my bike seat.

And seat post!  There I was last night at around 5:30, heading to a community meeting in Barclay.  I went to get my bike outside UB, and the seatpost and seat were gone!  I thought I must have forgotten to lock it, but the tiny little cable was cut. I use a U-lock, with a thick cable on my front wheel and a tiny cable they make for seats and other small stuff to lock my seat, since both are quick-release.  I never thought anyone would steal it.  Nor that the wanker would leave the light and computer on the handlebars which were worth far more money.  Stupid crackhead.

So I spent my evening fetching the vintage monster I sorta found and couldn’t find the owner for, discovering how much work getting it ridable will entail and ordering a new seat/post and a clamp that bolts closed(!).  It wasn’t that expensive, and I’ve been meaning to get rid of my heavy suspension seatpost and overly-cushy seat for a while.  But, you know, I wanted to still be riding until my replacements were in.  Now my poor bike is in my office, seatless and sad.

And I’m taking the bus this week.

Three years carfree.


There I was this morning, meandering through wooded streets on my way to work in Central Baltimore.  The ground was wet and more filled with gravel than I thought it would be, so I was taking it slowly to avoid having to clean myself and my drivetrain later.  (My current fenders suck hard.)  My fingers were warmer than they should have been, and I was trying to remember why yesterday felt like an important date.

Yesterday was three years since we actually sold the car and took up legs and transit and trains to get where we need to go.  I’m probably not much thinner and don’t really have a ton of money saved (I made more money as a grad student than I do as a VISTA), but I’m much happier.

I feel like I should have some reflections on being carfree, but I’m too tired to think of much.  Like how you avoid the guilt that one of my neighbors told me about this morning, of driving everyday alone.  Or how you really do see more of your city and meet more people and stay in at least slightly better physical shape.  Or how you should try it.

But it’s hard to really try being carfree.  We decided to sell our car a few weeks before we actually handed over the keys and $6,600 to a Saturn dealer — because Thanksgiving was coming, and we were on the way to Baltimore, and we couldn’t meet with the car guy to sell it until we got back.  So we had time to get used to the idea.  How will I get here?  Should I stock up on stuff because I don’t get there as often?  If I still owned a car, I don’t think I’d be able to think very creatively about transportation and fun because the four wheels would always be there to make that commute quicker or that trip a little more comfortable.  That could certainly be my own weakness speaking, but it’s like imagining what it’s like to be a vegetarian.  Until you’re faced with what to eat at a steakhouse you go to with a family member (and when, like the car  in the garage, you could just eat the meat), there are alternatives that are fun and alternatives which are just unpleasant that are hard to imagine unless you have to.  It’s not a matter of weakness or strength or ethics.  It’s hard to imagine the tight spot that vegetarianism and being carfree can each be unless you’re in it.

I’m certainly not trying to get preachy or anything.  Even with the rise of cycling as transportation, I don’t actually know anyone in my family or circle of friends who is intentionally carfree.  I do know some car-light folks who cycle as much as possible, and that’s more awesome than I can say.  But there’s still the car when you “need” it and the difficulty in imagining being very carfree.  I know people without a car because of money or a lack of license.  But swearing off the auto is hard business. I think I’m stubborn enough to be able to stick with it, that stubbornness being a weakness dressed up like a strength in this instance.  But there are definitely times when a car would make some things easier.  With the way things are laid out and constructed around cars in the US, this is bound to be true.  I’m not saying that we don’t live in a great country; nor am I judging it.  But the US is arranged around cars for the most part, and that’s not just my opinion.  Look around, or read up on what smarter folks have written about it.

In the end, though, cycling, walking and transit make a boring trip a mega-fun adventure.  Going to The Charles to see a movie is a pain in the ass if you drive.  If you cycle from North Baltimore, it’s a fun ride, and the theater is warm and inviting.  Imagine grocery shopping without ever having to look for or fight for a parking place.  Being able to lock your bike right by the door at work.  The cool looks you get when you go to a dinner party or a wedding and tell people you rode there on a bike or walked.

All possible without a car.

[More BIKE LIFE photos.]

[If you think cars are the best thing ever and want everyone to have one, you should direct your energies toward a blog on that topic (I'll read it), rather than wasting it on trolling comments that won't get published.  Just sayin.]

Photo Friday: White.

New shoes, strange knee.

Monday, I was at work between my normal workday and a community meeting I had to go to at night.  My knee was bothering me again, so I read up on what a trainer in college told me I had.  She was crazy, but I think she was right.  Except about the part about surgery.  Turns out it’s almost always exercise/PT, often involving cycling.  The inflamation is worse when sitting.  Yes.  So I took the long way to the meeting, and my knee felt a good bit better.  Yesterday also.  But I thought I’d rest it today and took the bus, which I’ll do for the rest of the week.  Okay, maybe it’s a wuss move, but at least I’m not driving, right?  The bus is its own kind of fun, actually.

And I met another cyclist in the church basement at the community meeting Monday who wears the reflective ankle straps I wear to keep my pants out of my chainrings.  I told him I was glad to not be the only one to have them, and we talked about favorite jeans ruined by chainrings and chains.  I also became less anal about wear-and-tear on my bike yesterday, through realizing that getting upset about a new scratch on my fork blade, when there are dozens all over my bike and that it had some from the shop anyway, is just stupid.

Either deal with it, or hate my bike and never ride.  Never ride?  F@#$ that.

And I finally have shoes on!  I realize there are people at work who have never ever seen me in shoes.  This is funny.  The purchase process was almost too good to be true, for someone who doesn’t wear leather but doesn’t want to drop $150 on shoes either.  First place I looked, got em.  Very nice price, too, with free shipping to boot.  Picked up my package at someone else’s house, strapped a large box to my bike (bought two sizes to try) and rode home in rush hour.  It was awesome.

But I don’t want to portray myself as a constant consumer, at least not of anything but notebooks, coffee/tea and bike innertubes.

Beat-up green Malibu.

Dear Lady in the Beat-Up Green Malibu:

It was pretty funny yesterday afternoon, how you blew your horn at me on my bike for a full second, as we approached 25th Street.  It was a good joke when I was in the straight lane so as not to block folks making this legal right on red and  how we weren’t even stopped yet.  I’m so polite that I’m a joker.  It was all very funny.  How you couldn’t even make your turn after you scared the shit out of me because of the traffic.  How we were uncomfortably face-to-face when my heart was racing and your window was open.  I felt like I should say “Hello” or something.  Oh, but I was laughing too hard inside!

Oh, and you were on your phone.

That’s why you were a bitch?  Yeah.  If I were a braver man, I’d have reached into your car and taken that phone.  I wouldn’t have touched you.  Don’t worry.  But you’d never see that phone again.  Part of me hopes that you got two flat tires or rear-ended a parked car and didn’t hurt anyone but instead caused yourself a lot of trouble.  But that’s not the funny part of me.

Here’s to hoping that you dropped your phone later and that it was run over by the fattest cyclist in Baltimore.

Go to hell,

This Dude

Crate and deck treats.


A few weeks ago, my friend and I embarked on a milkcrate installation and tire/tube replacement on a quiet Saturday afternoon. It was very spur-of-the-moment and got more so with the addition of snacks and beer. I got some photos of Mr. D doing funny things with his knee brace, but I’ll keep those to myself.

This probably makes it look like we’re whinos. But this was definitely a treat for both of us.

Photo Friday: Spontaneous.