Empty Nesters

Last Thursday, we shipped the kids off to Arizona with grandma for the weekend.  Excited to have house to ourselves, KT and I took Friday off work.  We had no plans, no commitments and no itinerary for three days.  It was awesome.  That being said, by Friday at 10:00, we were bored.  Determined to make the most of our time, we hatched the brilliant plant to make grape jelly using the concord grapes that have been growing like Audrey Two from Little Shop of Horrors for a few years in what used to be our garden (we now prefer to call it "native habitat").  We researched recipes and realized we needed a sieve to continue our project.  Determined to do this on the cheap, we set off to the local thrift shop to see if we could score one.  This was convenient, as the liquor store was right next door and I was already several hours late of a buzz considering the whole three day weekend thing.

So, after determining there wasn't a sieve, we decided to make our normal rounds through the store.  KT meanders through clothing, knick-knacks and pillow cases (?) while I flip through the t-shirts and check out the books.  When I was halfway through the book aisle, KT came bounding towards me, heels kicking high and arms flailing.  "OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!  I found an EMMALJUNGA!  You HAVE to come look at this!!!".  Intrigued, as I had not a clue what an Emmaljunga was, I followed.  Turns out an Emmaljunga is a baby stroller.  KT would have none of my less than enthusiastic reaction.  "You don't understand.  We HAVE to buy this.  You can't even buy these in the United States.  EVERYONE in Sweden has one and it's only $30!  We HAVE to buy this."

"But," I countered, "our children are grown.  We just sent them on a plane to Arizona.  We aren't having more children.  I don't see the need."  KT would not be denied.  "It can be for our grand-babies.  We can lend it to people.  I can clean it up and sell it.  It's Swedish and thus the most awesome baby stroller ever invented and we are buying it."  Case closed.  We loaded the stroller into the car and headed home.

Once home, KT set to work immediately, furiously scrubbing and polishing the stroller, shaping it up to the point that I had to admit it was a fine looking piece of machinery.  She then dove into internet research, proving to me that indeed you can't purchase an Emmaljunga anywhere in the United States and that they do sell for quite a bit more than we paid for it.  Humbled, I apologized for my hesitation in purchasing it and assured KT I would never question her in a thrift store again.  All was well with the world, we were at peace.

Flash forward a few hours.  I was diving into one of my new books while KT was in the other room, still putting the finishing touches on her new investment.  I was absorbed in my book, but became vaguely aware of KT humming or singing.  I wasn't alarmed, but found it peculiar as she isn't normally prone to these habits.  As it continued, getting gradually louder, I recognized the tune.  She was performing the music from the opening credits of Rosemary's Baby.  The creepy "la la laaa la, la la laaa" tune.  I had to investigate.  It was as bad as I thought.  KT was pushing the stroller around the room, eyes glazed over.  She was, of course, doing it merely because she knew I would freak, but it worked.  I asked, begged, pleaded for her to stop, but that only encouraged her.  "I miss my babies, la la laaaa, la la laaa.  Aren't you excited for us to be empty nesters?"  I knew my only hope was to ignore her.  Luckily, I'm pretty good at that. I went back to my book, gritting my teeth and pretending I wasn't disturbed.  In an inspiring display of determination, she continued the act for nearly 20 minutes.

Finally, satisfied the nightmare was behind me as the maniacal la la la had stopped, I ventured back into the room.  This is what greeted me:

Followed immediately by KT whining, "Paul, I miss my baybeeeees!!!!"

I truly fear for our future.  Oh, also, the damn birds ate our grapes, so the great jelly experiment was a flusher.

Naked Feral Cat

It's now been about 18 months since I started wearing hearing aids.  They're great and I wish I would have gotten them much earlier.  They make work, social situations and family life infinitely easier and have been credited with "turning down my asshole factor a bit" (I'll let you guess whom I'm quoting there).  That being said, my favorite moment every day is taking them out at night.  I'm essentially pressing the mute button on the world, and it is wonderful.  This moment usually occurs between 9:30 and 10:00 each night, when I have finally:
a) massaged
b) paid sufficient attention to
c) cuddled
d) liquored up or
e) all of the above
KT enough that she has stopped talking and has a fine line of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.  Like one becomes dependent on glasses just a month after first getting them - despite not having worn glasses before - I have become dependent on my hearing aids and can hear absolutely nothing without them.  Like I said, this is a peaceful nirvana for me and I cherish the moments.  It can, however, lead to "situations" at times where it is imperative for KT to convey a message to me and my deafness makes it considerably difficult.  I tend to startle easily as I can't hear anyone not in my line of vision.  Additionally, when startled, I tend to jump and flail much like a Looney Tunes character.  KT, in her typical sensitive, loving manner, has likened me to a naked feral cat when I don't have my ears in. She cites the following two examples in justifying my new title:

1)  Last weekend I came down with a nasty head cold.  It timed itself perfectly so that it hit right when I got home from work Friday and proceeded to stay with me through the weekend, lifting just in time so I couldn't justify taking a sick day Monday.  Friday night, Saturday and Sunday, however, I was flat on my back, sniffling, sneezing and dispersing mucus like an oversensitive soft soap dispenser.  Friday night, KT and I had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the TV, as per our normal protocol.  We sleep there for an hour or so until one of us gets uncomfortable enough to make the effort of getting up and heading to bed.  As a courtesy, the one who has gotten up will nudge the other and grunt out the word "bed" before trudging off.  The other will then usually follow suit.  This night KT was the one who woke first and decided to head to bed.  I had my hearing aids out and was soundly sleeping as she nudged me.  Following routine, I began instinctively rising to head to the bedroom.  Rather than sleepily shuffling ahead of me, however, KT immediately jumped into an admirable basketball defensive position and began boxing me out.  Confused and still mostly asleep, I attempted to move around her.  She quickly spun around held up her hand in the classic traffic cop stop position and yelled, "NO!".  "YOU!" (pointing at me now).  "STAY!" (pointing at the couch now).  "STAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY.  YOU STAY!"  I now had stirred sufficiently to understand that my sneezing/snoring/snorting had banished me to the couch for the night.  That was fine, I could understand her reasoning, but thought the theatrics of trying to train a feral cat were a bit excessive.

2)  Al and Audrey are at the stages in their lives where, despite still living at home, are gone often enough that it is not at all uncommon for KT and I to find we have the house to ourselves for the night and the following morning. It allows certain liberties that are convenient and run the risk of years of expensive therapy if the kids witnessed it.  In specifics, I'm referring to walking from the shower (downstairs) to the bedroom (main floor) without first getting dressed.  It's a small convenience, admittedly, but one which I never fail to take advantage of when I can.  A few weeks ago we had one such situation.  The kids were both gone for the night and we didn't expect them home until late the next afternoon.  So, Saturday morning, I got out of bed to shower with the full intent of making a naked journey to the bedroom to get dressed after.  KT was still in bed, drinking coffee and waiting her turn for the shower.  To her mild surprise, she heard the front door open and Audrey walk in with a friend.  As it turns out, they had decided to go shopping and Audrey was swinging by home for a quick change of clothes.  KT went to the kitchen to chat with them as I, oblivious, finished my shower.  When she heard the stairs creaking as I began walking upstairs, she realized the magnitude of the enormous life scarring event that was about to unfold.  She began yelling "PAUL!!!!  STOP!!!!!  DON'T COME UPSTAIRS!!!!"  I, however, didn't have my hearing aids in (they don't work well in showers), and heard nothing more than Charlie Brown's parents yelling "BWAH!!!!  BOP!!!!! MMOMP FLOM ROMMAIRS!!!!" This simply piqued my interest and I picked up my pace.  KT quickly realized the naked feral cat was loose.  Thinking fast, she ran to the top of the stairs where, by divine intervention, a basket of my clean laundry was waiting for me to put away.  She opened the door and began madly flinging whatever clothes she could grab quickest down the stairs, pelting me with a total of two pairs of shorts, thee socks and a flannel shirt.  The message was received, however, and I realized that it was probably a good idea to put some clothes on before going further.

While my natural inclination is to be offended by the comparison, I do have to admit that KT may, once again, be right.

Allegiances

If anyone questions where KT’s allegiances lie, let me offer the following brief story from the other night:

I was telling Audrey an amusing story from a book I am reading about a motorcycle gang in Sweden.  Instead of using the term “motorcycle gang” however, I was referring to them as “bikers”.  Audrey was having a difficult time following my story, but like a true hero, KT jumped in to explain.

“He means BIKERS, like this”, she said.  She then proceeded to straddle an invisible Harley, place her hands above her head (high handlebars apparently), put a “do me” look on her face and purred an engine noise while revving a fake throttle.

“He doesn’t mean bikers like him”  She then pointed at me, crossed her eyes, hung her tongue out of her mouth, shook her head like a bobblehead doll, and began pantomiming pedaling, looking much similar to someone in the first spastic, panicky moments of drowning.

Message received, honey.

Dirt Naps

Today officially marks three weeks since I have been in a car.  Over this time span, I have biked 313.4 miles, bussed 50.4 miles and walked 18.9 miles.  The surprising thing I have learned during the course of this experiment is that it isn't the long trips that turn me into a cranky complaining mess.  Instead, it's the short little errands that are killing me.  I don't have a problem getting up early and riding into work or heading downtown for happy hour, but a quick trip to the liquor store or the bank seems like an incredible hassle.  Most likely it's a matter of perspective.  When going to work, I know I am going to be there for eight hours so an extra 25 minutes getting there isn't a psychological hurdle.  However, a five minute beer run turning into a 30 minute struggle has a tendency to (at best) make me grumble or (at worst) make me convince myself that I don't need beer as I have a five year old bottle of tequila and a nine year old bottle of creme de cacao in the basement and there surely must be a cocktail combining the two (there isn't).

So, anyways, with 10 days left, my biggest internal question is what happens then?  Will I continue to be less reliant on a car or will I slip back into old habits of automatically grabbing the car keys whether I am going to work or to the next door neighbor's house?  I honestly don't know the answer.  I'd like to think I will find a happy, healthy balance between the two, but I tend to work at extremes.  Meanwhile, some random thoughts:

 - SWASS season is most definitely upon us.  I'll let your imagination run wild with that.

 - Last Thursday was nearly a flusher.  I had taken the day off of work as Audrey was swimming in the State Synchro meet.  As she swam at 1:45, my plan was to enjoy my morning farting around at home before pedaling down to the U of M about noon.  A simple plan, but I don't work so well when things are that open-ended.  As I've mentioned before, I thrive on strict, orderly schedules.  I would be an amazing train conductor in Germany.  Occasionally, however, I will try to ease up and let things just happen.  So, I read for a while, watched Troll Hunter on Netflix (highly recommended), made myself some eggs and consciously avoided looking at a clock.  Finally, convinced the time to leave was near, I pedaled to the bank to grab some cash for the day.  It was on this 1.5 mile journey that I realized that I had made a mistake.  The wind was whipping at a good clip straight from the North meaning that the way to the U would be downhill and with the wind at my back but the uphill trek home would be an absolute bitch.  I quickly changed plans and checked a bus schedule.  I had six minutes to make it about 1/2 mile to the bus stop.  I sprinted out the door,  making it to the stop in time.  While catching my breath, however, I reached into my pocket to grab bus fare and quickly realized that I had only $20 bills.  So, I ran across the street to a gas station to get change.  Because I always feel like an ass asking for change without making a purchase, I decided to grab some candy.  I rushed into the candy aisle, picked up my usual Gobstoppers and headed for the register.  At the end of the candy aisle, however, a bright purple pack of Jolly Joes caught my eye.  I froze.  I was hopelessly stuck, unable to make the simplest decision on what kind of candy to buy.  Three minutes later, I let out a small whimper as I saw my bus go by while I was still holding two boxes of candy, completely unable to make a decision.  Now I had to wait for the next bus, arriving in 30 minutes.  I would still make it on time to see Audrey swim, but it would be much closer.

 In the meantime, I texted KT of my fate, whereas she made it a point to drive by the bus stop on her way to the U, honk at me and give me the finger.  I began reading my book while waiting for the bus, and continued to do so once I boarded.  I became so engrossed, in fact, that I completely tuned out where the bus was.  When seemingly everyone began getting off the bus, I naturally assumed I was at my stop (why wouldn't everyone be going the same place as I?) and hopped off the bus, never taking my eyes off my book as I was only two pages from a chapter break.  Once the bus pulled away, I finally checked out my surroundings and realized I had exited the bus several stops early.  Now I was in trouble.  I had a couple of miles to go and not nearly enough time to get there.  Shit.  As I was about to abandon hope and plan my apology/excuse to Audrey, KT and my parents who had come to watch, the heavens finally smiled upon me.  A block away I noticed a Nice Ride bike rental station.  I sprinted over, easily and quickly rented a bike and pedaled like hell towards the U.  As luck would have it, there was another Nice Ride station right outside of the Aquatic Center, meaning I could pedal almost to the front door.  I did so, slipping in to watch Audrey swim with three minutes to spare.  Needless to say, I have become a fan of the Nice Ride program.

 - One of the great things about so much bike riding is the chance to appreciate nature.  Oh Mother Nature, how I love thee

 - As I've mentioned earlier, we ditched cable in our house a few weeks back.  This wasn't an easy decision, as KT has never been shy about proclaiming her one true love to be television.  Regardless, we took the leap and I hauled all of our equipment in.  One day last week, we received a large box in the mail from Comcast.  Perplexed, I opened it to find a cable box.  As we had clearly just canceled our cable and returned our equipment, I was more than a little bit peeved.  I got on the phone ready to raise holy hell.  The very patient and kind representative informed me that because we had kept Comcast for our internet service, we were automatically entitled to one cable box at no additional charge, and that we would receive on demand services and a limited number of channels for free.  I was skeptical, but satisfied.  KT, on the other hand, was over the moon.  As she put it, "I loved cable so hard that I had to set it free.  But like any true love story, it returned to me."  Hard to argue with that logic.  At least until yesterday, when we got a terse letter from Comcast explaining that since we have canceled our cable service, we have exactly 14 days to return all of our cable equipment to them.  I give up.

 - One more bike story:  Wednesday night I went downtown straight from work to meet my brother for his birthday.  We decided to roll the dice with the impending storms and scalp tickets for the Twins game.  It was a good decision as the storms held off and we got quality seats for a great price.  When the game finished, thunder and lightning were getting nearer so I quickly said goodbye and headed for home.  About halfway home, the thunder and lightning was becoming pretty close and was quite spectacular so I decided to stop and try to grab a photo or two as it wasn't raining yet.  In retrospect, I should have heeded the words of the great philosopher Stevie Nicks who penned "Thunder only happens when it's raining".  No sooner had I pulled out my phone to snap some photos when all hell broke loose.  I was instantly drenched and being blown in every direction but home.  After a few seconds of panic, I soldiered on.  By the time I neared home, I actually was able to enjoy the moment, realizing in awe how rare of an occasion it is to be able to have a first hand experience of a powerful storm.  Okay, I'm full of shit.  It sucked.

 - Finally, dear old Maggie, our beloved lab is 12 years old this summer.  She has a giant growth on one side of her body, a mangled pus-ridden leg that she obsessively licks, cloudy eyes and severe flatulence.  And, we love her more than ever.  As walks have become too much of a burden for her, we have substituted simply sitting in the front yard with her as our nightly activity.   Each evening, she picks a spot in our flower bed and digs a little deeper and a little wider into the earth.  When she has worn herself out, she plops down in her ever deepening hole and takes a monster nap.  Maggie has never been an obsessive digger, which makes her behavior all the stranger.  The only logical conclusion KT and I can come up with is she is digging her own grave, preparing to take one final dirt nap.  I guess there are worse ways to go.

Redneck

I have successfully made it through 10 days, 155.85 bike miles, 38.7 bus miles and 11.3 walking miles of the no car experiment.   I was worried about this past weekend as weather and commitments promised to make it challenging.  A quick recap of the past few days:

Thursday evening:  One of my crew at work is moving to greener pastures so we went out after work Thursday for drinks and a sending away party.  I had been informed many times by many people that operating a bicycle under the influence is illegal, the same as if you were operating a car.  Before leaving work Thursday, however, I decided to actually do the research.  Turns out it's not.  As a bicycle is not a motorized vehicle, it's not against the law to operate one while under the influence (here is your proof).  So, with new-found knowledge as my courage, I enjoyed the celebration.  As usual, I miscalculated how being 15 to 20 years older than the group I was with affects my tolerance.  I was soon feeling no pain, which the crew quickly picked up on and decided it would be fun to see how drunk they could get the boss.  I played along for a few shots and a few beers but then, knowing I had 10 miles in the dark to navigate, pulled the foolproof old man trick out of my hat.  I would keep drinking with them, I explained, but wanted to move the party to another bar closer to home so my ride wouldn't be so treacherous.  Elated that mission Get Boss Drunk was working, they quickly agreed.  They piled into vehicles, I jumped on my bike and we were off.  I let them get just out of site, turned a hard left and went straight for home, leaving the night to the young people it belongs to.  My pedal home wasn't bad, although I did notice a little swerve in my ride and I did end up walking my bike up a few of the big hills rather than risk an alcohol-induced tantrum halfway up them.

Friday morning:  Dear God riding to work hungover sucks.

Friday evening:  My first ride in the rain.  After turning down no less than five offers of a ride home from work, I strapped on my raincoat and pedaled off.  Within about three blocks of work, I came to the realization that a) my back pack isn't waterproof, b) neither is my raincoat and c) bikes have fenders for a reason.  Not having an alternative, I soldiered home through a mixture of precipitation ranging from light sprinkles to steady downpour.  Once I was able to accept the fact that I was going to get wet, I was actually able to enjoy the ride.  I arrived home, said my greetings and was met with hysterical laughter.  The explanation?  I had packed a pair of yellow basketball shorts for the ride home (sorry ladies, I have yet to give in and pick up some of those sexy biking shorts).  Turns out yellow isn't the best color for the sprinkles of mud that your tire kicks up straight to your backside.  I arrived home with a giant brown streak perfectly aligned with my ass crack.  For all those approaching me from behind on the way home, it most assuredly looked like I had taken a giant dump in my pants.

Saturday:  Audrey had her Synchro Regionals at Richfield Middle School (going to state!), starting at 9:00 and continuing the entire day.  Richfield would be a 19 mile one-way ride, which would have been doable but would have eaten up a considerable portion of my day.  So, I decided to make my first bus trip of the experiment.  Graciously, KT agreed to make the journey with me.  We got up far too early for a Saturday, loaded up backpacks and headed out to the bus stop, making a stop for coffee on the way.  It was an absolute downpour Saturday morning, which was fine for KT as she has a reliable raincoat and the foresight to pack a large umbrella and wear sandals.  I, on the other hand, am not so bright.  I wore my raincoat which has already proven faulty, used an umbrella purchased in an emergency in NYC which cost $23 and is the size of a portabella and wore socks and tennis shoes.  By time we got on the bus, I was a soaking wet, grumbling, complaining mess, in far contrast with the sunnier (disposition) and drier KT.  We rode the bus downtown, made a quick transfer and were dropped off a block from the middle school.  Which would have been really convenient had we not immediately bee-lined in the opposite direction when we got off the bus.  We realized our mistake after a only a block, however, and made it to the school in plenty of time to see Audrey swim.  The bus ride home was much more pleasant as the sun was shining and one bus took us from one block away from the school straight through and dropped us off three blocks from home.  We were so energized that we even hopped on our bikes to take Audrey out for a celebratory dinner when we got home (see Tijuana Donkey Show).

Sunday:  Sunday was intended to be a day to rest sore muscles and for the most part, it was.  We raced the weather and got some much needed yard work done and were ready to move our tasks indoors as the severe weather approached.  Then, however, I got a text from Audrey, who was at work at a local thrift store.  The text read "If you want a German soccer jersey for only $4.00, I suggest getting here now."  Audrey often sends texts like these while at work.  Last week, it was to KT and was for a pair of pajama jeans that just hit the shelves.  They are absolutely as sexy as they sound.  Anyways, as the rules of this experiment dictate, I must not skip doing things I normally would do if I were driving.  Would I drive through the rain for a chance at a cheap German soccer jersey?  Absolutely.  So, I strapped on leaky (I had by now named my raincoat) and hit the road.  My timing was absolutely perfect.  I left home immediately after a downpour and pedaled through light sprinkles for the two mile journey.  While in the store, I watched a torrential downpour flood the parking lot.  As soon as the rain let up, I quickly pedaled back home, beating the next wave of heavy rains and winds by about 30 seconds.

This morning:  I woke up to rain, but I didn't even care.  I have learned to strap my backpack on under my raincoat, which at least helps it remain somewhat dry.  I do take on the appearance of a turtle riding a bike by doing this, but as you have probably learned by now, I've long given up on appearances.  I actually enjoyed the refreshing rain on the ride this morning (the lack of wind helped).  At one point I even let out a Nic Cage scream and barreled directly through a puddle rather than ride around it.

Side note:  One thing I have learned through ten days:  I don't properly apply sunblock.  I ride West in the mornings and East in the evenings, meaning the sun (when out) is beating down on the back of my neck most times while riding.  As I got out of the shower yesterday, I was again met with uproarious laughter from KT (a pretty common theme).  She snapped this photo to explain why:

Ok, I guess I deserve that one.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Note:  Actor participating in a reenactment

I was in three confrontations on the ride to work this morning.  The blow-by-blow details:

Confrontation One

Location:  Bike path surrounding Columbia Golf Course

Nemesis:  Squirrel

The majority of my ride to work can be accomplished using bike paths rather than roads.  Using only roads gives me a bit of a straighter shot, but I enjoy taking the paths and the ride is much more scenic, not to mention serene.  The first path I jump on surrounds the Columbia Golf Course in Northeast Minneapolis.  Like any golf course, this one is jam packed with squirrels doing their squirrelly things.  I don't pay them much attention as they generally stay out of your way.  This morning, a squirrel was munching on what must have been a particularly tasty morsel on the bike path.  I fully expected the squirrel to wait until I was near enough to pose a formidable threat then scurry off the path, chattering squirrel cusses at me as I passed.  This squirrel, however, was not keen on giving ground to whatever it had found for breakfast.  Instead of preparing to dart away as I neared, it reared up and stared me straight in the eye, as if to say "Bring it".  Not to be intimidated by a squirrel, I barreled forward in the most unusual game of chicken I had ever been a part of.  At the last second, I caved and swerved left to avoid a collision.  Problem is, the squirrel had the same escape route planned.  As I swerved left, he jumped left.  At this point I shut my eyes, as any reasonable coward would do.  I immediately flashed to a tragic but inspiring story I saw on the news last night about a kid who is confined to a wheelchair after being attacked by a tiger.  As unfathomably awful as that must be, at least he can say a tiger caused his injury.  I was convinced I was going to have to live the rest of my life explaining how a squirrel had horribly maimed me.  Apart from the squirrel defying the laws of physics and changing the direction of it's leap mid-air, I can't explain how there wasn't an impact.  Shaken, I pulled over and looked back.  The squirrel was standing exactly where it started, guarding it's precious breakfast, staring at me in defiance.  It even started moving towards me again, as if saying "You want some more?".  I quickly pedaled away.

Confrontation Two

Location: University Avenue overpass

Nemesis:  20-something girl

On this stretch of my journey, the bike path lies on the left side of the road as it crosses the overpass spanning University Avenue.  In other words, although you are on a bike path, you are facing oncoming traffic rather than riding with it.  To make things more difficult, there is an exit ramp leading up from University Avenue which crosses the bike path.  Bikes have the right-of-way, as cars have a stop sign, but I have quickly learned that having the right-of-way is about as useful as being "only a foreign language short" of your college degree.  I spotted this nemesis early, speeding up the exit ramp with a cell phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  I also noticed her looking sharply to the left, making sure her path was clear to take a right turn at the top of the ramp.  Not once did she glance to the right, where the bike path and I were coming from.  As no cars were coming from the left, the stop sign became optional for the driver.  Meanwhile, realizing she wasn't going to stop, I had taken action to make sure I wasn't going to get flattened.  I slowed down, but still made it a point to get close enough to reach out and give the side of her car a gentle tap as she sped by.  Had she not been wearing a seat belt, I'm certain she would have jumped straight out of her vehicle.  She slammed on the brakes and looked at me, turning a ghastly shade of white.  At this point, I panicked.  I didn't think past the gentle "I'm here" tap.  Rather than give her a wave or a gentle, "Please be careful", I instinctively flipped her the bird and rode away.  In retrospect, I feel bad about this.  KT has (rightfully) long ago broken me of the road-rage middle finger salute, so I'm not sure why it was my natural reaction.  Yes, she was in the wrong and could have killed me had I not been paying attention, but my childish admonishment probably just makes her wish she had.

Confrontation Three

Location:  Work parking lot, Quebec Avenue North, New Hope

Nemesis:  Canadian Goose

There is a small pond in front of my work building which perpetually overflows and occupies a small corner of the parking lot.  A number of Canadian Geese have begun squatting in this corner of the parking lot and, as they tend to do, become quite protective of their territory.  I generally steer clear of them and take the long away around the parking lot as I am filled with equal parts disgust and fear of this particular species.  Today, however, feeling emboldened from my previous dust-ups, I decided they would move for me.  I pedaled towards them, slowly but confidently.  One goose in particular took notice of me early, craning his/her neck and letting out a few sharp honks.  Undaunted, I ventured closer determined not to be bullied.  I was going to win this battle.  Once I got within about twenty feet, however, I noticed something that quickly turned the odds against me.  Standing behind my nemesis were several small fuzzy little shit-spewing geese.  This was a new parent, and pardon my french, but you don't fuck with a new parent.  Too late now to change my course, I sped up hoping to get past before the goose went on the offensive.  No chance.  Poppa or Momma Goose began hissing wildly and giving chase.  I screamed like a school girl and pedaled like hell, barely escaping with my life.  Problem is, I am now stuck at work as I am too afraid the goose is waiting to finish the job.

Tijuana Donkey Show

I'm on day five of "the experiment", have logged 84.3 miles, am a little sore in the legs and posterior but in general good spirits and health.  So, let's talk about KT.  About 10 years ago, when I got my bike, we decided to pick one up for KT as well.  Much like mine, it sat in the garage collecting dust for the next several years.  About four years ago, I started to ride my bike more frequently, increasing it's usage each Spring/Summer/Fall every year hence.  KT, however, has been a bit more hesitant.  Last year, she used the bike exactly once, pedaling with me the 3/4 mile (round trip) journey to the liquor store.  As I've mentioned before, we live in Columbia Heights, so despite the short journey, a hill was involved.  It wasn't a large hill, or a very long hill, but we weren't half way up it before KT began quite vocally informing me that "her exercise muscles hurt".  She continued to quite vocally remind me of this, mixing legible English with prehistoric sounding grunts until we arrived home, upon whence she returned her bike to the garage and it sat undisturbed for the remainder of the year.

Fast forward to last week.  In preparing for my month of no car, I walked my bike down to the local gas station to put air in the tires.  As it is Spring, and hope springs eternal, I convinced KT to walk her bike down as well and fill the tires.  It was a beautiful Spring evening, one of the few and first nice evenings we have had.  So, after filling our tires, we strolled across the street and sat on the patio of our favorite Mexican restaurant for a few beers.  After an hour or so, we decided to head for home.  The restaurant is on a busy street, and on a particularly busy intersection of that street so we walked our bikes safely across the intersection before mounting them to pedal home.  Unfortunately, immediately after getting on our bikes, we were faced with a long, steady hill.  KT immediately balked, fluttering through as many excuses as she could find ("I didn't bring my helmet", "I've had two beers", "I feel like walking").  I was slightly ahead of her and about to give in to walking the bikes home when she flew past me, pedaling like mad and emitting a guttural sound unlike anything I have ever heard before.  I quickly jumped on my bike and caught up to her, doing my utmost to try to figure out if she was in pain or merely grunting for my theatrical benefit.  When we finally reached the apex of the hill, and she caught her breath, KT summed it up perfectly when she said, "I sound like a fucking Tijuana Donkey Show!"

Despite this, she made it, and hasn't completely ruled out biking for the year.  In fact, on Sunday she went so far as to purchase a helmet.  I wasn't with (I've sworn off Walmart again after the air pump fiasco), but Audrey was kind enough to document it for me.  Behold:


Katie buys a helmet vine.co/v/b0Dtlz3mWDF

— audrey. (@audreykruse) May 12, 2013

At the risk of over-explaining and diminishing the pure magic of this video, here is what happens:  KT discovers that, like most items in her world (clothes, helmets, bikes, etc), the Child size works best.  Not content, however, to simply find a snug fit and purchase, KT determines she must give the helmet a try.  She doesn't grab a bike off the rack, because that would just look crazy.  Instead she finds another more suitable mobile device and begins giving the helmet a workout.  It must have worked, as she has bought the helmet.  Biking world, it's on.