Thursday, March 11, 2010

I'm like a criminal only more dangerouser

Well hell. It's been so nice out the last two weeks, I haven't even thought about writing this thing.

The constant sunshine has thawed me out, and all the snow is almost gone. Unfortunately, it still didn't melt enough to hold the Michaux Mash out in Carlisle this Sunday.

With only five spots remaining in the open field, my debit card was unsheathed, and I was ready to transfer 45 bones to that race. Fortunately, before I hit the final button, I got an email from Don proclaiming the cancellation of the event. Oh well. Winter's final blow (everybody who read that knock on wood. really hard)

I borrowed Aaron's cross bike for a little group road riding last Sunday. 82-ish wonderfully sunny miles. But I still can't get used to the road bike thing. Every time we hit a hill Aaron had to issue little reminders "Little ring. Shift. Don't cross the chain. Get out of the big ring." It's too much to think about, then when the gears starting skipping at the end of the ride, it further annoyed my brain. With the exception of group road rides, I'll stick to single speeds. I'd prefer to just pedal.

Yesterday I headed out for a slow 35 miles with a friend. I rode the Flourecent Death Machine of Doom (I still can't spell flourecent well enough for the spell checker to recognize it. so I give up. It's my bikes name, and I'll spell it however I damn want to.) We had a great easy ride in the Sun on the back roads around Greensburg.

When we got back into town, we were stopped at a traffic light, and after seeing that the coast was clear, I rolled through. Then I heard sirens. "Oh wonderful. Here we go again." I thought.

The local mustache and glasses exited his flashing maroon undercover car "What now, the law doesn't apply to bikes?"

"I thought it was green" I lied

"Oh yeah? That's funny cause it wasn't." He pulled out a notebook and pen from his breast pocket "What's your name?"

"Montana Miller"

"Yeah? Date of birth?"


"Ok. Lemme see your ID"

"I don't have it."

"Do you have a drivers license?"


"Well why aren't you carrying it?"

"I'm riding a bike. I didn't think I would need it."

"Yeah? So if I call into the station and run this name and date of birth, it's gonna come up?"


"Ok. If it does, I'll let you go." He unclipped the radio snake from his collar. "Hey station this is unit 234, we got two bicylists over here, run this name." (I wonder what he would have done if my name wouldn't have come up. Visions of being sentenced to wear a striped suit and work on a light-hearted musical chain gang ran through my mind.)

The radio gurbled back. "Yeah. Ok. 10-4 buddy." he re-clipped the mouth piece.
"Ok then. I'm gonna let you go. Don't do that again."

"I won't" I lied. We went to Wendy's and got chicken nuggets.

That was the second time I've been pulled over by flashing lights and sirens in town. But it's cool, because a cop car running a red light to chase down an offending cyclist never gets old.

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