Okay, I’m not a TOTAL pussy, all right? So I’m a fairweather cyclist. So what? I like sunshine and bliss. Sue me.
I will have you know that had I not already ridden my bicycle to work this morning, there’s no fucking WAY I would’ve gone for a leisurely ride in this evening’s fare — and certainly not for 14 kilometres headlong into it!
MOTHERFUCKING WIND. That shit’s bad enough without throwing long certainly-not-designed-with-crosswinds-in-mind BRIDGES into the motherfucking equation, man! Out of all the bridges in this city, that one sucks the mostest in the wind, on scooter or bike.
What normally takes me about 40 minutes to ride home took me nearly 60 today, and I fought for every damned inch. I get home and my guestimation proved right: 70-kilometre-an-hour winds steadily gusting sayeth the Weather Network’s gurus.
It kept moving me six inches over. I was tacking like a sailboat. Zig-zagging like the amateur cycling pussy I am.
It’s that rare kind of day where cyclists stop to talk and comiserate about what a cunt Mother Nature’s being. Today a guy stopped to tell me he’d been coming over Granville Bridge when a crosswind whipped his glasses off (scratching his face, too) and blew them into oncoming traffic, which then crunched ’em. I took the hint and put my fancy cats-eye spectacles away under zipper. “Sail on!” I commented, and took off.
But, whew! Our trusty blogger lives to tell the tale of jumpingjesusonapogostick wasthatahairyride! Thank god for karma and perseverence. That bridge was one fucking nasty experience. I’m not used to that shit!
Reminds me of the baptism-by-fire first big windstorm I had to ride home from work in on my scooter, Back In The Day. I brazenly came over the bridge because I didn’t know any better. Later I’d find a long, landlocked passage, but back then I just took the regular bridge… which just happened to be the tallest of the bridges across a windy inlet. Holy crosswinds, Batman. Naturally the only way to control a crosswind’s damage is to slow down. To 30 klicks. Cars = Pissed Right Off. Whatever.
Then I brilliantly took the cyclist route up the hill to home, about eight klicks yonder… under heavy tree canopy.
My thinking: Canopy = Shield from wind!
My reality: Canopy = Endless source of big painful branch-like things and other flying projeciles aiming to take me the fuck OUT.
So let this be a lesson to all ‘o you boyz’n’girlz out there: Do dumb shit, then LEARN from it. That minimizes the death-from-dumb-shit probability stat, y’know. Oh, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve stopped mid-thing and thought “What the fuck was I thinking?” But then I realize the important thing: Aha! Another tale to tell!
Today was a bitch. Next time I rethink the bridge. Buses might cost $3.25 but furthering my bid for immortality? Priceless.