Biking without a helmet

I got a ride several miles out of town to the volunteer-run bike shop to get a bicycle cheap. I was promised a helmet with the purchase, but the helmet they had for me was far too small. "Just don't fall down pedaling back".

I fell down at least twice.

Fortunately, I sacrificed my left shoulder for my unprotected skull, and can now almost move it.

With my glasses, dork-hair, bruised skin and pedaling in my hush puppies, I made the conclusion that I am not an outdoorsman. Fortunately, people on the trail were nice enough to make sure I wasn't dead.

This past week at work I barely met my first deadline, helping to get a letter of intent of to a foundation in the big city. I got that crazy pang of fear in the stomach I used to get at university, hastily editing papers that are due in five minutes. But when you hand in the paper, you feel relieved, and I got that feeling, too, this week. To celebrate, I went to the library to check out some art books, went to the grocery store to get some beer, and chilled out in my rented room watching episodes of Perfect Strangers online.

I am not an outdoorsman. This could be a problem. I do not have a car, I live in a small town, and I can barely ride a bicycle. But I have plenty of time, since the days are getting longer and warmer. I also have goals. The Pacific Ocean is fifteen miles away. I could take a bus out there, but, if my bike does not collapse on the next few trips, I will pedal out to the coast. I have not seen the Pacific Ocean up close in ten years.

I'll wait a few months. Just in case I fracture half my bones and have to go home, I can have something on my resume for all the effort.

While sitting beside the trail back to town, recuperating from one of my multiple falls, I thought about my bind. My brain likes physical work, while my body prefers a desk job. I can barely endure eight hours at my desk everyday. Then again, I was fired from my last job because I failed to bake the bread fast enough and I was actually allergic to flour. Non drousy Sudafed got rid of the sniffles, but the poor quality of Michigan tap water caused my hands to chap and crack. The yeast also turned my fingers red. But I at least felt sane.

What I really need is a job that involves labor, but also a desk to sit at time and again to keep my skin from falling off. It probably does not exist.

I made peace with myself and mounted my bike again. So I'm not a mountaineer; whatever. Neither was Kerouac. I am just a Yankee born in Massachusetts. Come to think of it, so was he.

Also, Teddy Roosevelt fell off his horse in front of everybody his first day with the Rough-Riders.

Happy Presidents Day.