Wed. May 17, 2006

I got back on my bicycle a few days ago, and I’ve been practicing riding around town. I need exercise, and I need an alternative to riding to work in my un-air-conditioned, oil-leaking car.

The experience has convinced me of what I already surmised. This is not a bicycle-friendly community. Lately the city has spent a great deal of money on fancy signs that say, “A Bicycle Friendly Community.” They have also painted white stripes along the side of several major roads (though not the one I live on) about 12 inches from the curb. These are referred to in visitor brochures as bike lanes. Locals refer to them by the humorous designation “bowling alleys.” Probably the most appropriate decorations placed by the city are the graphics of flat bicycles stenciled on the bowling alleys. I presume that these mark the last-known locations of people who were foolish enough to actually ride their bikes there. Or perhaps they are just warning signs indicating what you are likely to look like if you spend any time in that space. Just to make the experience more fun, the street sweepers (you know, the trucks with huge brushes underneath that crawl along at 5 mph during morning rush hour) sweep all the debris from the road into the bike lanes. This is actually handy as it prevents bike riders like me from traveling at a speed any faster than an excited slug, at which we might endanger ourselves, since we have to negotiate an inch of sand, gravel, glass, and pavement chunks.

If you want to go anywhere useful on your bike, such as downtown, or to work or school on campus, you can have even more fun. Most of the roads in town don’t even pretend to have bike lanes. If they do, they taper off at every intersection, so to fit in them you have to get thinner and thinner as you approach the intersection, and then dwindle away to nothing. Sort of a 15 second Atkins diet. In a fit of concern for pedestrians, the city several years ago ordained that you can’t ride your bike on sidewalks. Short of outfitting with rockets to become airborne, then, there is no way to avoid riding in the narrow streets surrounded by Tahoes and Blazers driven by inexperienced, late-to-class student drivers.

The solution taken by most riders (myself included now) is to, in fact, ride on the sidewalks and take the chance of mowing down an innocent pedestrian or two. Now that I’ve had some practice riding, my favorite thing is to swerve threateningly and yell obnoxiously as I pass a pedestrian “hey- get a bike or walk in the bowling alley!” You should see the looks of terror on the faces of those elementary school kids.

What? OK dear, yes, I know. Two of the little blue pills...I’ll be right there.

I wonder how many dangling blogs are out there. You know, the ones that get started by enthusiastic new bloggers, who eventually realize that it's a lot of work to keep up. My whole life seems to be immersed in unfinished business these days. So many good intentions, so little time.

Student projects that almost work, but never get completely finished. Songs started, but never get past the first verse and a catchy chorus. Organizing projects that get halfway done, then end up making things worse when they don't get finished.

My daughter has decided that Sonic popcorn chicken is the greatest food substance ever created. I'm not sure why. She's had it so much, I keep thinking she'll grow tired of it. But then, she's watched most of her favorite movies dozens of times. I guess it's how little people work.

Now this blog must stop- I'm overtaken with sleepiness...maybe I'll finish it tomorrow....

Ever had this happen?

[Email from "Joe" to me}:
Thad - I met with Fred the other day. He's a complete lunatic. He doesn't know anything about this stuff. We need to make sure to get him off this contract ASAP. - Joe

[Email forwarded to Fred, from me. Accidentally selected "include message"]:

Dear Fred,

Joe said he enjoyed meeting with you the other day. He recommended that we take your suggestions under advisement. I'll be in touch with you later to discuss how we should proceed.

Best regards,
Thad

>I met with Fred the other day. He's a complete lunatic. He doesn't know anything about this stuff.
>We need to make sure to get him off this contract ASAP. -Joe

OOPS. Well, it's just one of the interesting things that can happen in the new environment of instant communication. I've been reading a text on wireless communication. Turns out that this idea is really catching on in some areas. Underdeveloped countries, like New Mexico, are where the fastest growth is taking place. It's a lot cheaper to put up a couple of antennas than to run copper wire all over the place. Soon there will be wireless communicators all over major cities, so people can go anywhere and not be out of touch. I'm old enough to remember busy signals, and rings that would go on indefinitely until you decided that the person you were calling really wasn't home, or didn't care to talk.

I found myself wondering why we humans seem to have such a deep-seated need to communicate. What is it about our nature that desperately desires this? We write blogs imagining that someone will read them and care. We talk on the phone while we drive, walk, play with our kids. We seem to be losing the art of being alone, at peace with our own souls. A recent article I read studied cell phone use on airplanes. It is illegal to use a cell phone at any time during a flight, but a research team brought equipment on board numerous flights and determined that on every flight at least one person was using a cell phone. None of the flights they studied went careening out of control as a result, but they suggest the possibility does really exist.

I don't have the answers yet, but I'm willing to entertain thoughts from any of the hundreds of people who are undoubtedly reading this and craving every next word. Gotta go - the phone's ringing.