Friday

I biked north on the trail-- nothing too fancy-pants becuse I wanted to stop at the Coe baseball game on the way home. The most interesting part was biking out of Daniel's park through the grass instead of following the normal paved route.

First, the grass was long and Daniels Park is hilly. I was panting with the effort it took to simply pedal to the curb at the 16th st side of the park.

Second, 16th st is pretty busy at 5:22 pm on a Friday evening.

Third, because the park is so hilly, the curb separating the park from the road isn't so much a curb as a sheer mountain cliff dropping off into a bottomless abyss, which, if it does have a bottom, is definitely made of concrete.

These are the facts.

Have I mentioned the reason I swim?

No grace. No coordination. Also facts.

You know where this is going.

By the point I realized I was heading for disaster, I only had time to check for oncoming traffic. Clear. Maybe I wouldn't die. And with no witnesses, maybe I could preserve a shred of dignity.

Then I was airborne. It was glorious. If I had to guess at my hangtime, I'd say it was the sum of the time it takes to think "Well this isn't so bad," and "Oh no. That ground is getting awful close."

My world shook and a few of my brain cells screamed in agony as they bid me farewell. I actually have a bruise on my tushy from how hard I landed.

But I was alive and so was Shirley the Schwinn. I didn't even pop any tires with my little stunt. I was home free.

That's when I saw the hoodrats. For a second I thought maybe my bike moves were better than I hoped because they were cat-calling me like nobody's business. I flashed my shiniest smile and began pedalling Shirley off into the sunset.

That's when the whistles turned into snickers. That's when one of them had the decency to ask if I was okay. That's when I did the graceful thing and stuck my tongue out in response. That's when i realized I had not even a strand of dignity left.

Story of my life.