I have been riding my bike, in whichever of its three inceptions (be it the one I borrowed from my brother-in-law, the 20 dollar towel hanger, or my current one) on and off for two years now. I’ve ridden through sunshine, thunderstorms, pouring rain and winter winds. I’ve ridden uphill with two flat tires, I’ve crossed major intersections with the chain hanging out, I’ve lost my breath, I’ve had my shoelaces caught up in the stupid cog, and I’ve had my foot slip from the pedal at pivotal “pedaling” times. I’ve had rocks thrown at me (by a quartet of drunken fucks who, lucky for them, missed me), I’ve arrived at work so fucking hungover I didn’t even lock the bike to the rack (only once – this past monday) and I’ve even ridden home with a variety of “odd” packages: a pizza, a couple of supermarket bags…
I’ve never fallen of the fucker, that’s a plus. But despite all my previous rides, including that bike trip from Fergus to Elora (and back) when I was still fat and out of shape, I’ve never felt so much revolting hatred for my means of transportation as today’s trip to work.
The fact that it’s barely spring, I’ve only had the bike for a couple of weeks, and in a way I’m still not a hundred percent plays no factor in this – the rest of the week, I managed fine (even Tuesday, when I got sprinkled by rain). It was the wind. And that fucking gigantic physics-defying insect.
Wind, for the average pedestrian, is at most, annoying. For the average sailor, it is a blessing. But for someone on a fucking bike, it can be hell. I swear, by the time I got to work I could have sworn I rode all the way from Chicago. I guess I had every God in Olympus, Valhalla and,,, well, wherever else gods meet cheering for me, because I cannot summon a decent explanation for how I made it up that hill.
Of course, the stupid iPod Shuffle didn’t help one bit. When I only had my classic, I could make folders, playlists and whatnot. Depending on my mood, I could either decide upon death metal, alternative rock, a podcast or two, or fuck… 80’s mexican pop sung by chicks with no talent, if I so decided to. But with the shuffle, there is no such privilege.
While ideally, when biking up that hill, a heavier song pumps me up (in a perfect world, Pantera’s “Stronger Than All”, or stuff like that), the idiot Silver Shuffle had other plans for me. As I pedalled my soul out uphill, straining in each passing second to maintain at least a minimum grasp of the real world, all I could hear was “plant a little seed, and soon it starts growing….” Of course it’s not as much Apple Inc’s fault as it is mine, for throwing Collective Soul into the mix, but it’s the irony that gets me. It’s one of the few non-metal songs I have in there, for now.
Not five minutes after making it up that fucking hill, I’m desperately trying to make it to the next traffic light, almost praying that I’ll get a red light so I can catch my breath (which, of course, on this particular day, NEVER happened), when from the corner of my peripheral vision I catch a glimpse of some giant fucking thing that’s flying full speed into me.
If you’ve read this blog enough, you’ve probably figured out that luck and irony have formed a pretty strong tag team against me. So, if you watch music videos frequently enough, you’ll know which song was playing when that dumb bumblebee hit my adam’s apple*.
Fuck, did it hurt.
I finally made it to work. As I locked up the bike, I swore to myself I’d get a car. Soon.
*Blind Melon, “No Rain”
The Iceberg.
