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05/10/2008: The Another Other Bike Ride
By Leemonster
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05/10/2008
A very lonely bike ride. Although, I didn’t want anybody else with me
anyway. It was a giant circle, A very giant circle. Crate full of jackets, water,
some ginger ale, a backpack with my camera, some notebooks and flattened decayed
cigarettes I had found near the lower middle of the second painstaking hill
I pushed my bicycle up. I don’t even smoke but sure, why the hell not?
I’m not too sure who I am anymore and what exactly I’m doing here
other than making noise, scribbling and going for very long bike rides, so I
decided to try out one of the questionable Marlboros not knowing if it would
have been laced with some mind bending drug, nor caring, because it’ll
probably later kill me anyway… nor caring because that is what life is
set out to do anyway. If I wanted to die any faster I guess I would have went
on my little bike ride blindfolded, brought about a dozen McDonalds burgers
with me and mixed some gasoline in with my Ginger Ale when I felt that needy
quench after puffing down a death stick. Sure, why the hell not? The entire
time the realization in my head came about… My very existence in the world
is completely tilted. I’m off damn axis, I mean, I must be… because
my mind kept staring through my eyes and each time I looked upward it was “More
HILLS!” Yes, more hills… I’m slanted.. This tilt is extreme.
Back during the insanity of calling the world round, and the norm of saying
“Dee fucking heee, the world’s flat… Don’t fall off!”
I maybe would have felt that the world is… I don’t know, just a
figment of our imaginations. Well, Okay, I still feel that way… And I
put the flattened disgusting cigarettes into my backpack mesh pocket and pushed
up the rest of the hill. Cars passing and hick stick passengers gerking their
little beady cross eyes out of the window but somehow I’m not bothered
by their stealthy effortless mode of transportation, No, I’m somewhat
proud, thinking “Hah! I’d like to see your interbred ass make it
up this damn hill with a swollen ankle and long sleeve flannel shirt. Hell,
I’d even let you try without the flannel shirt and you STILL wouldn’t
make it.”
The bike ride wasn’t for the “fitness”, not at all. Hell,
if it were for the fitness, you know I’d have to wear one of those skin-tight
one piece wetsuit type looking things you see all those psychotic bikers heathing
in, with their space rocket helmets and working brakes, not to mention their
reflectors and hand-sign turning notifications.. As if that will change the
impact of a car smudging into them at over 40 miles per hour or some drunken
fuckbilly slurring their way past the white line. No, If it were for the health
I wouldn’t even temporarily take up smoking or later go home and eat a
box- worth of half moon cookies.
Hills aside, the scenery was beautiful. Astounding, The birds flying around
chirping trying to get laid, The flowers stemming off trees and clustering into
the farmer’s fields. The centipedes being all striped looking like inmates
who had just escaped some sort of murder trial from the bug hearing. I was away
from it all but there was still this god damn pain in the back of my mind/front
of my heart and I’m afraid it will never go away. So I find even more
distance to pedal as it feels like there are ants crawling in my brain. Possibly
somebody spilled some ice cream in my head and that is what attracted them in
there the first place, but I know it is something more.
I get to the top of hill number three. Holy fuck, that was a mountain, not a
hill. This Chevrolet with two giddy faced humans (with those godamned eyeballs,
ears and mouths) passed for about the second time. Alright, finally a chance
to get some downhill riding. I’ll stop at my friend’s house on the
way down. I stuff my camera into the backpack and put on my pilot face. I’m
flying and the birds are staring down at me, perched on the telephone wires
looking down at me as to say “That’s not how you fly, motherfucker!”
but it’s good enough for me. Swirve left, swirve right, zig zag zig zag,
alright.. Here comes the house. Up the long stony driveway and to the front
door. As usual, not a damn person home, but I get to light up one of those murder
sticks and pretend I know what the fuck I am doing when it comes to being one
of those cool, on-top of the world nicotine addicts. Alright, no further hope
of communication. I’m on my bike and another mountain is about to arrive
but this time it’s all downhill. I’m cruising I’m cruising
I’m cruising… Puffing while steering and I start down the lip of
the hill. Agggggghhhhh!!! Total impact! Divine vertical acceleration.. I hold
my hat down to my head with one hand so it doesn’t fly the fuck off and
grip onto the left handle bar with the other hand. The cigarette pinched by
my lips starts to fall apart halfway down the hill and water spurts out of my
right eyeball from the speed. What the fuck’s that all about!!? Stop sign
coming up but you know I have no godamn time for anything like that, I just
keep hoping some twiddley jank face doesn’t pull out from nowhere and
cause me to impale my bike upon their vehicle and launch me like a smurf out
of a cannon. Closer, closer, closer… Alright, good.. No death this time.
I’m past the stop sign and down the main road. I stop at another persons
house, possibly to offer them the shitty cigarettes because I’m really
just not that badass to smoke the rest.. But nobody answers the damn door. Fucking
humans doing family things on Saturdays, I can’t believe it.
But whatever, This bike ride was for myself anyway. If anybody were to interfere
with it I might have gotten something done, and I can’t have that. The
piece of shit Chevrolet goes by me again.. What the hell is this? I’m
not too worried about the freaks, They probably have not a damn thing to do
but drive their red truck around town, through the hills and back all day, just
as I have as little to do but torture my bicycle through hills, countryside
and through little towns where I am sure there are lots of “The South
Will Prevail!” flags. Yeah, then the chain gear tears into the inner right
leg of my pants and that is what you get when you love somebody too much! Then
you later go home and stitch it, but fuck it, you know it’s going to rip
again soon, much like the cheesy lyrics to some shitty Cure song, but the bicycle
interpretation works much better in my opinion, which might have some ice cream
stuck to it still so watch out.
Alright, screw this little town community area… I ride bike out towards
the gorges and chug down some more water, then relax down by the misty shale
rock layers. It’s quite a scene when you edit out all of the busted beer
bottles laying dead on the upstream shore stuck into the mud alongside a ripped
up and spread out gun catalogue stating “Buy 3, get one free.” What
kind of cheap, ill-mannered marketing is this? Litter advertising!? Guns and
stale beer… And I’ve yet to know why some drunk hasn’t shot
me yet. Finally my head starts to relax and there aren’t any sounds of
vehicles passing by or pissed off dogs yelling “If I weren’t on
this leash, I’d piss you the fuck off by biting at your ankles!”
Okay, all I could hear was “bark bark bark” but I know what they
meant! Anyway, all that was way the hell earlier and the sun knows it’s
going to be bedtime soon. I’ll skip some stones and try to figure out
when to head back, or maybe I won’t. The feeling of not having to go back
to it all… To the remaining everyday unanswerable questions, the schedules,
the horribleness of loving with all you can, the junk mail… It might get
cold, the bed might jab your back and be compiled of dirt and your way of getting
around might not need to be fueled, but god damnit the luxury of not having
to get back on the tracks to the ride we call “normal life” that
always end up smashing into a brick wall, with no brakes or breaks… Sometimes
you’d rather take any other option.
All material on this site created by Leemonster. (C)wrong Guestbook