Death on a Fin! Or was it Schwinn?

I had a completely different idea when I started this blog two days ago. I had a title (something silly and kind of funny I said while watching one of the many shows about sharks playing this past week) and an urgent desire to post something. Anything. Almost. I still have my standards.

So I sat around, staring at the blinking cursor on the blog box, trying to decide what to write about. Should I discuss my latest adventures as a reader for Dark Recesses Press magazine? Do I try to sound like a smart writer and discuss plot problems, characterization, work discipline, etc.? Or do I just make something up like usual?

More than likely, I was going to wait around until after Saturday and post the latest movies and forget the cool stuff I learned during Shark Week. (Did you know the great white shark can breach the water? Seriously. Flying as high as fourteen feet into the air. It’s pretty cool. In fact, look at the picture.)

Is that sushi I smell?

Is that sushi I smell?

Then tonight I decided I needed to get out and do some exercise. Like most people nowadays, I could stand to lose a few pounds. And if I were serious, I really need to lose a few pounds. To give me more energy, look better, yada yada. (I eat too much ice cream. And I drink coca-cola like it’s water.) So I finally did what I’ve been threatening to do for almost two months. I grabbed my husband’s completely unused bike and went for a ride.

Of course, this was after I installed a handle-bar light, and a back wheel red flashy one. (The hubby insisted upon this. Like a light on the handle-bar is going to do anything but distract me, but hey, at least he cares, right?) So I get both lights screwed on, push on the tires a bit which are a bit low and then ask the hubby if I have to wear a helmet. (He tells me “Whatever you want, that is if what you want is your head broken into two gory pieces and splattered across the road.” Sure. Whatever I want.)

To make a long hour short, the chain came off twice and had to be reset. I fell down/off three times. My shins are incredibly bruised and I’m achy all over. It took the third fall to knock some sense into me. I’m not ten anymore and can’t ride a bike with low tire pressure. What’d that leave me with? Walking the bike the half-mile to a gas station and filling the tires. Or giving up.

Well, mama didn’t raise no quitter!

So I got up, walked down the street and filled the tires. (I also picked up a bag of Tostitos. While it may not be so smart to actually go work out, pretty hard at that, and then go home to have nachos, but well.. I don’t have a witty excuse for that. Sounded delicious at the time, though.)

That was only the beginning of hell. I tried to get a boost onto the bike, since it’s still a little too big for me, on the curb at the station, and I fell off. Again. But I hopped on, smiling off the embarrassment; lo and behold, I stayed on! The tires still sunk quite a bit, so I can only assume the bike was crying at carrying me. But it didn’t act up for another ten minutes. I rode it almost all the way home before the chain fell off again, but thankfully it was a quick fix.

I realized something on my nocturnal bike ride. It was frightening. I haven’t ridden a bike that wasn’t attached to the ground in 9 years. I kept expecting the bike to crumble beneath me and, after I’d fallen, stand up and mock me for being so stupid as to get on a bike. (I read way too much Calvin & Hobbes as a child.)

And I can’t steer a bike to save my life anymore. I was weaving and wobbling all over the sidewalk. (Pedestrians, be warned. Late nights are mine now or you could be in danger.)

Despite the grave fear of another fall, I enjoyed riding the bike. Feeling the wind in my hair. I just wish I could’ve pulled the ol’ no-hands-mama trick I used to. But I’m not that brave.

The adrenaline’s worn off now and I’m just about ready for bed.

The Next Morning

I almost fell asleep at the laptop last night, so I just set it down without finishing the blog. So here’s a picture to make you smile. It quite adequately describes my adventures with the bike last night.

Oh no! It got me! Help! Help!

Oh no! It got me! Help! Help!

I love Calvin and Hobbes. For some fun, check out this quiz to determine how much Calvin and how much Hobbes you’re composed of. Here’s my results.

Your result for The Calvin Or Hobbes Test…

Mostly Calvin

You are 80% Calvin and 20% Hobbes

Your inner Calvin often prevails, but, as in the image below, you have a significant Hobbesian component. I’m going to try to stretch the visual metaphor here: you have a good head on your shoulders, but when you don’t use it, your crazy body gets you in trouble? Does that work? Odds are you’re impulsive and imaginative, but it’s possible you’ve collected just enough wisdom to hold your most anti-social urges in check. Most of the time. It’s a precarious balance, like a boy on one foot with a tiger head.

Take The Calvin Or Hobbes Test at HelloQuizzy

the end

Well, almost.

I can’t resist posting one more picture. This really was me as a child.

My goofy self.. and my wise conscience.

My goofy self.. and my wise conscience.

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