Monday, August 31, 2009

Have You A Box In Your Pocket?

This is a box. Not just any box, a coveted, white bowed, blue, Tiffany box. If you are of the double x chromosome variety you knew this 27 words ago.

Never listen to a girl if she says she doesn't care about jewelry, fanciness, or names on the box. When it comes to holding a Tiffany box all bets are off.

But it's not just the bow, the box, or the name...it is backed by quality. Just so you know. And all girls know, so you are making a statement.

But this isn't about that. This is about the guy I saw proudly carrying a 12 pack of Bud Lite through Friendship Heights.

For the love of Christ man, pay the $0.05 bag tax and cover that shit up! This is Friendship Heights not some great American trailer park!

Tiffany is perched on the other side of the hill. Tell me, please tell me, you have another blue box tucked in your pocket with some 14k earrings for your girl and all you had left was a couple bucks for Bud, forget the Grape Nuts Flakes.

Congratulations! You spent your last 14 thousand dollars on a little blue box. There isn't a song for that, but yeah you! I'd even toast you with that lousy generic beer. It comes with a free glass of water. But not a free plastic bag.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

I Paid For That!?

Here’s a thought: don’t waste your effort on the obvious.

Of course if you run over a person standing in the middle of the street there is going to be a BUMP. The sign is unnecessary and bad advertising. It's not good for a county's image to encourage this type of behavior.

A much more effective sign might read GLASS to alert cyclists to fade left to avoid potential blowouts. This would also alert motorists to watch for weaving riders. This would in turn cause them to avoid BUMPs in the road.

But alas my tire was slashed. If I lived in PG County and drove a car I would be page 3 of the 5 o’clock news. If I lived in PG County I would naturally assume there is always glass on the shoulder.

“Someone slashed your tire!?!”

“Yeah, well I rode over some glass really. What! Somebody put it there on purpose!”

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

FBF Not ISO SSB

Hey Baby,

You, black bike, pedal pushers, tattoo on your leg, CCT.
Me, Schwinn, same, on your ass. Which was very nice I might add.

Your fixed gear caught my eye. Sexy flat black frame. Chunky chain. Sticker I couldn’t read.
You, ditto. Nice engine. Army green pants to the knee. Adorable canvas bag.

Cruising the trail, not a care in the world, wind in our…helmets. Our cadence in sync.

Whawhawhaaaa. What? DTNCTR (drag the needle cross the record)
Coasting? There’s no coasting in biking. Especially not FIXED gear biking. Is that a SS?? Whawhawaaaa! You're single. I'm fixed.

Oh hell. Attraction fleeting. You say either, I say neither; let's call the whole thing off.

Thanks for the draft.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

By Land Or By Sea

Ironically, there is no bailing in boating. You can’t get out and walk if the seat is bothering you. You can’t flake on the trail and take the road back. You can’t coast. You can’t take a shortcut.

You are, as they say, IN IT. You, have made, a commitment.

There is up. And there is back. At least there are no wrong turns. No killer hills. Typically not faced with a headwind, or I would have stayed home.

I did, however, learn a valuable lesson today. Never, I mean NEVER fall asleep on the water. No matter what; not even a 15 frame nap. One blink of an eye and flip of the boat and up becomes back or back becomes up or something. It all looks the same.

Leave it to me to get lost on a river. I mean you come one way and you get home t’other. How hard is that? There is no T in the road. No turns. No intersections. But when I turned around all of a sudden the river seemed bigger, I don't remember this; HOW LONG WAS I ASLEEP!?

Welcome to a winding calm river. Current unreadable. The sun unreliable. A rock is a rock is a rock. Not that I had a phone, but what would I ask Bean, ‘uh yeah, I’m right by a tree hanging over the water and a rock slightly submerged. There's a turtle. Can you google it and get me home?’ Yes I know, this time, there IS and app for that.

*-[p-= (Parker wanted to say this...I think she's happy I found my way home!)

Friday, August 21, 2009

Hill Shakes Tear

A bike lane. In the middle, a biker boiling. Thunder.

Biker (to Lexus). Ever wonder why you seem to be driving with such ease up the busy Chinatown corridor during rush hour on the heels of a storm?

I have a feeling you know. As I park myself upon your front bumper, you don't yell, honk, or swerve. Oh yeah, you know, or I would be Flat Stanley, white cyclist spread across this lane.

And you pass me and match my moves? Touche. Alas, it is not nearly so simple to ride your back bumper. Adieu, my Lex, adieu.

But soft, red light through yonder wind doth brake
There to the east, that cop with radar gun
Arise, my fun, and halt that car buffoon
Who is already sick and pale with grief
Who? Me? What? This lane? To be or not to be.

Eye of newt and toe of frog
Wool of bat and tongue of dog
My bag of tricks, an uncast spell
Tucked away gestures, speak not of hell
Ha! Pulled you over! I needn't cuss
Leave this lane for BIKE AND BUS!

(in childlike sing song voice);
Double double you're in trouble
Take my lane, he burst your bubble
Cop and car sitting just past G
P-A-S-S-I-N-G!!!

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Never Said It'd Be a Good Song

This is a verse/that tells a tale/of three minus one
We splashed around/while he worked hard/'neath vacation sun.
We worked a bit/and played some more/I drank all day long
Hummed a tune/wrote some words/and out popped this song.

(chorus):
I'd spend my last $12 on Grape Nuts Flakes and beer
Excuse but, I feel the store should be very near
Get your shit and then get out you need to stay here
Charge the card,, made some room-Nut Flakes and BEER!

The pirates come/to Mermaid Rock/each and 'ery morn
They heard a tale/from 16 boats/there might be some porn
I thought I'd spend/half of my day/perched on the lake
I did not know/I'd have to work/as soon as day break

Beneath the house/atop the roof/scrape 'way the stain
While they ran off/and left the isle/to go in a plane
I had heard/but could not find/where they stashed a club
And everywhere/I hung my hat/was bit by a bug


(chorus):
I'd spend my last $12 on Grape Nuts Flakes and beer
Excuse but, I feel the store should be very near
Get your shit and then get out you need to stay here
Shouldn't've had that final bowl of Nut Flakes and BEER

Now how do we/get home from here/do you know the way
Holy shit!/That sure was dumb/we should have him stay.




<

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

That's Too Much

It's 90 paces ship to dip. I'd put my pace at about two feet. Sure enough, I measured it. 10 paces equals 20 feet. That's two feet per pace.

At a point A paced out to point B I measure 90 paces give or take a pace. That's 90 times 2 carry the zero for 180 feet.

180 feet shore to shore. About 100 feet shore to door. If I were running maybe more. I have a tiny stride. A good deal less if I could ride. I never tried.

I measured my bike wheel. Three full turns for 10 paces. That's one revolution every 6.6666666666667 feet. Or 80 inches. That's me and Parker lying head to head.

If you pedaled a road bike one complete wheel revolution you could run us over. Except you'd finish early since she sleeps ON my head. My head is less than 10 inches.

I'd have to pedal my bicycle 27 revolutions to dip my wheels in the lake. Coast to coast in 60 seconds. RAII? All set. I'm already ready already.

In 14.6666666666666666665 laps I could clock one mile. Back and forth 88410.66666666666665662 times and I could Race Across America. Rather, Race Across Indian Island WILL BE MINE!

The island is 2,160 inches in diameter. Seriously, could someone check the anchor??

15 for 15 for 15. ROCK, paper, scissors, origami RAA RAAAAAH Go.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Home Swwweeeeeeet Home

This IS Silver Spring.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Clear Water Revival

Paddle, Paddle, Paddle! Splash, crash, gnash. Paddle, Paddle, piddle, paditty, pfffft. Growl, Grr, whimper, wimp, UNCLE.

Headstrong into the river. Caution to the wind. Like a pit bull gnawing at the vicious, taunting white caps.

White water is no place for the weak. You have to be Strong. You have to be Brave. You have to be CrazY. 1 out of 3 ain't...bad?

Pioneers we were. No fear. Boldly going where even the drunks oared clear. Swiftly downstream. Recklessly chewing through rapid after rapid after rapid.

UNTIL....it was time to go uP.

Like salmon in heat. A barrel at the edge of Niagara. Brash determination. Overwhelming frustration. Toeing the line of panic.

ARR ARR ARR! Bring it on Baby! The Class .3 Rapids no match for the mettle of our adventurous paddles. The Class .4....ah...maybe a different story.

We suffered our moments of severe doubt. Plans for waterfront relocation ensued. Thoughts of a watery grave materialized. But we got through it. Next time though, I'm bringing the bike. I coulda pedaled through it faster!

Disclosure: Objects in river appear larger than they really were. The facts contained within this post were intentionally presented in a misleading, exaggerated fashion for the sake of entertainment. No boaters were seriously injured throughout the making of this mockumentary.