Day 3: Notes from the saddle

On the road

I'm riding my bicycle down 3rd Street on my way to the bike path when a guy in a red pickup pulls up beside me. He rolls down his window. Uh oh, I think. Another guy in a pickup. What advice does this one want to yell at me? Fucking mansplainers are everywhere.

There's something about men in pickups. They like to talk to me when I'm riding on the road -- and I mean just the men in pickups. Never the ones in cars. I had just posted this on my Facebook feed a few days before: 

One for the 'I can't win no matter what I do' column. Riding my bike on 3rd St, totally legal. In the middle lane so I could continue straight at the light. Some guy in a white pickup came up as close as he could beside me on the right and yelled, 'Get on the sidewalk, dummy!' 'Fuck right off,' I replied, although he probably didn't hear me over the gunning of his big, exhaust-belching engine. At the light 75 yards ahead where he had to stop, I intended to offer to let him pay my ticket when I get one for riding on the sidewalk, which is illegal and have you seen the sidewalks on the East Side? Holy shit, I might as well walk. As soon as I pulled up beside him at the light -- yeah, see where your big hurry got you, big guy? -- he turned right on the red even though he didn't have a clear distance to turn in front of the cars with the green. I guess he felt safer roaring away from me into traffic than he did sitting right beside me. Some people can't handle a redhead, that's for damn sure.

They aren't always unpleasant, these men. They are always men though, and they always make me wary. At another stop light one evening a guy in the lane beside me rolled down his window and looked over at me. There were 2 or 3 other men in the cab of the pickup with him. He smiled and said, "Hi there." I said, "Hi," and then I looked straight ahead. When the light turned green he said in a louder voice, "Hey!" I looked over. "Be careful now, will you?" he said. "I will," I replied and I finally smiled back.

Another evening on the same street as I waited at yet another light, again in the middle of the street in the left turn lane, a guy in a pickup going the other direction kept motioning something with his hand. I tried not to look like I was looking, but I finally figured out he was doing the "call me" sign, knocking his hand against the side of his head with his thumb and pinkie sticking out. He was still doing it as he roared by and I started pedaling toward the river. I had to laugh. He was all of 30 years old. A helmet and sunglasses hide a lot of decades years apparently.

Back to the guy in the red pickup. I'd noticed he got caught behind me a block earlier. That tends to piss some people off, even if I'm going about as fast at the downtown traffic. When he pulled up beside me and rolled down his window, I was ready for ... well, for whatever.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure." Usually when somebody asks me that I add, "as long as you're not asking for money." Saves time. I didn't expect a guy in a pickup to panhandle me though.
"Do you know where Don's Pawn Shop is? Am I close?"
Whew. "Yeah, it's about 2 blocks up the street, on your right. There's usually parking in front."
"Thanks. On the right. Got it."
The light turned green. I got up on my pedals.
"Hey!"
I looked over at him.
"Be careful now, will you?"
"I will. Bye." I turned, and he went straight to Don's Pawn Shop. Another guy. Another pickup. I hope he's careful too. People on bikes are a lot smaller than he is.

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I've noticed something weird about cars that pass in the lane next to me. A significant number of them get closer to me as they pass instead of moving further away like you'd expect. I mean close enough that they're often on or over the line. And then, after they've passed me, they move back toward the center of the lane. What's up with that? And it's not just men in pickup trucks, although they tend to be guilty as well.

I suspect they're doing that thing where they turn the steering wheel in the same direction they're looking. My ex used to do that and it drove me crazy. I tried not to do anything that would make him look over at me because I was afraid we'd soon be rolling over in a ditch. What the actual fuck? Either look straight ahead or learn to do two things at once.

I won't even get started on assholes people who go around me in the same lane. Some observe the 3-foot rule, which is still ridiculously close. Others go way out around. And then there are those who pass so close I can tell what they ate for lunch by the smell of the farts wafting out of their cars.

On the path

The bike path going south from downtown was closed for several years (4? 5?) because of construction on the interstate and in the river. A few weeks ago the highway construction ended and the bike path was re-opened as well, so I decided to take the path south .... along with about 300 walkers, mostly people who work downtown.

Pedestrians make me nervous. I try not to give them nasty surprises. I yell out, "On your left!" as I come up on them. Or sometimes, "On your right!" if they don't know which side of the path to walk on. Or, "I'm coming through. Right or left, you choose!" And a few times, "Down the middle, fucktards!" for those people who walk together, but on either side of the path. There are more than you'd think.

Sometimes they hear me. Often if they're walking alone they've got earbuds in and don't look up until they feel my breeze. I don't get that. If I were walking alone along the river or on a path in the woods, I would want to hear any other creatures who might be sharing the nature with me, including bicycles going anywhere from 10-23 mph. But that's just me. I'm a little high-strung, like most people with vaginas.

Between the walkers and the Canada geese, I did a lot of slowing down until I got out past downtown. The geese will move over if I hiss at them. The walkers, like I said, are not so aware that others share the path with them.

And then there's the ragweed. I know I said that in a post last month. And I even shared this photo. I don't care. The fucking ragweed is going to be the death of me. The nicer the weather gets, the shittier I feel and it's all because of those weeds up there in that photo and others like them. To be fair, this was the only place on the path that was so overgrown, but still. I was glad I was on my bike so I only had to hold my breath for about 15 seconds.

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And then there were the Hillary Clinton signs. As I passed by the Viet Nam Veterans Memorial, I saw the big city trash receptacles were filled and overflowing with Hillary Clinton signs. I tried to take a photo, but my camera sucked my battery dry and still didn't get the shot. Hard to call it a smart phone sometimes.

Same with the people who stole those signs and stuffed them into the trash bins. Stupid assholes. If you don't want to be called deplorable, don't steal from other people's yards.

My friend Jay asked his Facebook friends the other day if they were reluctant to put Clinton/Kaine signs in their front yards and bumper stickers on their cars, because he knows a lot more people who intend to vote for them than are showing it. Most of the people who answered said, "Hell, yes, I'm afraid to put them out. Trump's supporters scare me." It took me a while, but I finally put a sign in my yard. I'm the only one on my street with any political sign at all. I put mine behind my wrought iron fence.

One friend said as soon as she put a Clinton bumper sticker on her car, somebody keyed her car and bad. Not just one scratch, but several gouges. I had my bumper sticker on the console in my van for almost a month before I stuck it on, right next to my 2 Obama stickers from 2008 and 2012. So far nobody has fucked with my van. Fingers crossed.

Once I clear the city, I can gear down and go faster. I love that feeling. On fall days, I pass only a few other cyclists. A lot of people put their bikes away with their white shoes after Labor Day. I enjoy the isolation, and I'm not afraid because I feel fairly safe going 16 or 17 mph. Of course, I never feel entirely safe, because I'm a woman, but I feel safer than I do walking my dog in my neighborhood or going to karaoke. It only takes one roofie to kill the fun times for a while.

On my bike though, I just ride. I know that feeling strong and fast won't really protect me if the time comes when somebody does want to harm me, or even if I hit a walnut just wrong and my tire slides out from under me and I go down. Still, it's one of the few times in my life when I can let go and just feel my body working hard, my tires rolling, the air around me in motion, the river flowing beside me. For just a couple of hours, I almost feel free.

(All photos copyright Reticulated Writer)

Updates and getting naked

First the updates, because it never pays to lead with getting naked.

1. A couple of days ago I wrote about my upcoming piano gig at church. It went pretty much like I expected, which means it was a humbling experience that I don't intend to repeat. And people were kind and understanding and some even claimed not to notice. That's it. I have nothing else to say about it.

2. Last night I wrote a plea for one more like on Facebook to bring the number up to 150. Tonight as I write, the number is 170. Thank you. Your comments and likes and even the occasional criticisms help me sit here in the wee-est hours of the morning tapping away on my keyboard. I wish they cleaned my house too.

3. No, I don't have my guitars back. Don't ask me to explain. I have learned not to bang my head against the behavior of some people, because I will never understand it: bullies, mothers who kill their children, Rush Limbaugh, clowns, exes, and people who steal from friends. I can't explain this situation.

4. I've been writing about misogyny lately and about male entitlement to sex. Lots of women know what that feels like, and one of those women is my friend Autodidact Poet. She wrote a brave post on her blog titled, "The Thing that Needs to be Said." Our stories are powerful. What story do you need to tell?

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Photos stolen from a couple
of websites. Sorry. I wasn't there.

Now for the nudity. A reader and friend sent me an article about today's World Naked Bike Ride in Portland. Fucking Portland. Why do they get all the cool stuff? I want to go on a naked bike ride with thousands of other naked cyclists. I really do .... in my head.


I just can't imagine I'd put down my embarrassment over my imperfect body to do it. Well, that and my bike seat is about the size of a golf club head. I'd have to do something to accommodate the dildo factor.

I've looked through a bunch of photos from the ride looking for one thing: a naked middle-aged woman. I couldn't find one. Not a single one. In fact, despite the claim that riders of all ages and sizes and body types rode, most of the riders appear to be under 35 and relatively fit. Or older men. Older men seemed well represented, fit or not.


Which is fine, but where the hell are the middle-aged women? Or even the women over 30? I don't even see many of those in the photos. Is it photographer bias? Possibly. Or, more likely, women over 30 are so ashamed of our bodies, we can't get out and get naked with the rest of the cool kids.

It seems a shame, which is why I wish I had the courage to fly to Portland next year with my bike and represent.

I mean, somebody should. But honestly it won't be me. First, I can't afford it. Do you know what teachers make? Nothing in the summer.

And second, what if someone did post a photo of the one middle-aged woman who happened to be me, and what if one of my students saw it? I can't imagine the trauma. Maybe I could hide behind a layer of paint and some fairy wings, like these young women did, but see number 1.

Third, I'm afraid I'd go all that way there and chicken out, because seriously? It's hard enough to go outside my house in spandex bike shorts that at least smooth everything out. Walking around a park buck naked and then riding through neighborhoods while people in clothes stand on the sidewalk taking photos with their cell phones? The fear factor is high. I'd worry I was sticking out like an overweight, middle-aged woman with no clothes on.

Still, I applaud the thousands of people who made the ride today. It looks like they had a blast. It looks like they feel free and proud and confident. Some of them probably had to pry their saddles out of their asses, but what a small price to pay for freedom!

Would you do it? Would you go on a naked bike ride in your city?

Notes from the bike path

After a slow start this season, I'm finally riding my bike with some degree of addiction regularity. Riding feels better than anything else I'm doing these days (except spending time with my kids and granddaughter). Sometimes I ride the same route 3 or 4 days in a row, and even so, I never know what's going to happen out there.

My next-door neighbor asked me today if I had ever watched My Strange Addiction.  I said I'd seen a couple -- one about a woman who eats tires .... She said there was one about a woman who eats remote controls, another who eats her own hair follicles, and one about a guy who rides his bike 8 hours a day, even while he's working. He rides so much his hips have worn out and he can't walk right, but he won't get surgery because he won't be able to ride while he recuperates.

I said that one I understood. I had just come home from a 26-mile ride, and I was standing in her front yard still in my sweaty spandex capris wondering if I could go out later in the evening and get in another ride.

Addicts are people who eat tires and remote controls, not people who ride bikes.

The other day on Facebook a friend whom I'll call Doc -- because he's a doctor -- said I could assume I'd achieved an acceptable level of aerobic punishment if I got home from a ride  sweaty enough that I couldn't wait to take a shower. Obviously he's a runner.

First, my clothes dry pretty fast on a bike ride when I'm trying to keep a steady 14-16 mph pace over the miles. And yet, I do come home sweaty enough to wring moisture from my clothes on a hot day. And I definitely need a shower.

But whether I must take a shower depends entirely on whether I've completely depleted my stores of energy 10 miles back. Today my ride calculator said I'd burned over 1200 calories, and I'd eaten a small apple with peanut butter in the previous 14 hours. Fuck the shower; I wanted food.

In fact, I can come in splattered heels to neck in goose shit (that was Monday night), and I'll still have to consider whether I need a shower before I eat. Speaking of food ....

(photo credit: centralpark.com)

The Canada geese are thick out there this summer. Nasty shitting hissing flapping fuckers. They didn't used to bother me, but this year their numbers have tripled. I'll just pick up to a good fast pace and there they are spread across the bike path like they fucking own it, especially in the evening when I tend to ride most often.

The other day I rode earlier in the day and didn't run into one flock on my way out. They were all down by or on the river. On the way back though, they were all there, flock after flock crowded on the bike path. If they could talk, I'm sure they'd say, "Damn it. You're early today. We weren't ready for you, but here we are now. By the way, your shirt looks lovely with our shit splashed all over it." Damn birds.

 I hiss at them so they'll be intimidated and get out of my way faster. It usually works, but this year a few of them have gotten uppity and tried to attack my bike as I slowly passed. Assholes.

Last summer a lone goose ambushed a friend who was riding along the bike path minding his own business. The evil gander meandered onto the path out of nowhere; my friend hit it, went over his handlebars and landed on his shoulder. After surgery he ended up with something like 8 pins in his shoulder. I don't know if he's riding his bike this summer, but I think it would be hard to get back in the saddle after something like that.

There are lots of hungry people in this city. I don't understand why they don't do like Bob Cratchet and bring home a goose for dinner. Yummy, free goose.

One night I rode out about 8 miles and had come back about halfway in a fairly isolated area -- no houses or businesses nearby. Right there on my side I saw a grocery store cake in a plastic cake carrier upside down on the path. It wasn't there when I rode by the first time. And I hadn't passed anyone going the other direction in quite a while, nor could I see anybody ahead. What the fuck?

I slowed and examined the cake from my bike. It was close to 9:00, I hadn't eaten dinner yet and I was getting pretty hungry. That cake looked like a gift, and I certainly don't give a shit if my frosting is on the top or the bottom of the cake. Of course, I prefer cookies to cake, but life doesn't always hand you a cookie. Sometimes it's a fucking cake.

Sometimes people try to kill me. I mean strangers who don't even know me. Here are two examples, but I have more.

One evening I was riding on my street a couple of blocks from home when a guy suddenly opened his car door. I was giving myself enough space just in case such a thing should happen, but the funny thing this time is that the car was running. And the guy wasn't getting out. Not even his foot was out.

I hit my brakes and slowly passed him. When I looked down into his face, he looked .... I don't know. Busted. After I rode by, he closed his car door and stayed in the car

I think he did it on purpose. A friend said maybe he was going to steal my bike. I don't know. Some people are just mean, like it or not.

Monday I got the walk sign at a stoplight. I was just about to ride into the intersection when a man came to a swift stop in the walkway right in front of me. I hit my brakes and stopped inches from his passenger door. He was on the phone and was looking to the left. I waited. He didn't look to the right where I was .... inches from his door.

His 3 kids did though. They were laughing about him almost hitting me.

Finally, as the time on my light was running out, a guy in the next lane honked at the asshole and yelled and pointed. He took the phone from his ear and said, "What?" He still didn't look to the right of his car. The guy pointed and gestured toward me, and finally he looked.

Then he said, "What?" to me.

Fucking idiot.

I said, "You might as well go ahead and turn. I already missed the light."

He still didn't get it. His kids did though. They thought it was hilarious. I guess they didn't realize if his driving was unsafe for me, they weren't safe either.

He went back to his phone conversation and turned the corner. I think he still didn't know he'd been seconds from running over me. I had to wait for the next light.

Several times I've seen couples riding together -- a man and a woman. And they're wearing matching shirts. Not ever the same couple, but the shirts are always red. No logos.

Who does that?