Cycling in Traffic: Irrational Fears

If the title of this post drew you in because you care about Vehicular Cycling or Cycle Driving or any of those crazy notions about roads being shared without special paint or lanes or infrastructure, you are in for a real disappointment, despite the fact that bikes and roads and cars are nowhere near mutually exclusive. This post is about my stupid brain and its totally unfounded, irrational fears:

Since I have not been buried in concrete, you can expect to see another post here soon. Have an excellent weekend!

Yer Pal,

R A N T W I C K

Childish Again

I have posted in the past about bringing clothing that belonged to my children (socks, underpants) into work instead of my own stuff. Those incidents were accidental. Now I have started taking their stuff on purpose...

 

 

 

 My Left Foot - no, not that My Left Foot; My Left Foot.

 

Allow me to explain. If you have children who play organized soccer, you may well have found yourself with a rather large supply of soccer socks, your children having been issued them in year after year of playing. Strangely, those soccer socks, although intended for the children, are usually big enough to fit me quite nicely. I wear them under my long work pants, of course. They are comfortable, breathe very well and are a nice dark black colour. They even feel good on my legs, like girdles for my calves!

 

Hey, wait just one damn minute... have I started wearing black knee-high support hose? Crap! They're just my kids' soccer socks, dammit! I swear!

 

 

I will not be this now, at the age of 43. No way. Maybe later. Maybe.

 

 

 

Forget that, man. Those socks are going back into the kids' clothes. As far as you know, anyway.

 

 

Yer Pal, R A N T W I C K

Turn About is Fair Play

See what I get for scaring people the other day? Dude startled me bad on my way into work on Friday morning...

People sometimes pop out of the bushes down by the river, but it was so rainy and deserted he really got me. The camera was in its waterproof cocoon, so you didn't get to hear me say "oh, ****!", which is what really happened. That is good I guess, because I wouldn't want you to think any less of me.

Yer Pal,

R A N T W I C K