Cars are hard and I am soft
As the temperature hovers around perfect while the sun shines just enough to warm skin, the bike lanes fill up like lemonade glasses. Biking in the city has been an ongoing challenge. It's a push and pull of safety, expediency, mob mentality, and fear. My principles are tested and reformed daily. I've nearly settled on a few to guide me, but even those tend to favor the familiar routes. I've started to realize the places where it's better if I turn right on red so I can cross lanes to make a left in the next block. Illegal? After 7 AM it is, but if I don't jump the light I get angry drivers bearing down on me. I've started to realize where I can time the lights and keep my momentum and where I might as well just follow behind a car because it's not going to change my ability to get to my destination any faster. With fuller bike lanes, the laws of traffic and sharing space within the bike lane become more challenging, but the laws of the road are still important to keep close to the gear shift.
Yesterday as I was skirting around a line of cars on the right who were stopped at a stoplight that would soon turn green, I rediscovered a little something about cars. They are hard. There was no bike lane, so I was riding in the space between car and curb. Should I have been there? It's where I'd be if traffic was moving, so I think yes. I passed two cars as the light was turning green. The third car, the one in front at the light, chose that moment to turn right just as I pulled up next to it. I felt it happening and managed to turn right as well. My turn wasn't sharp enough and my arm slapped against the side mirror. As I was pushed farther to my right, the side mirror made a satisfying BOING back into place. I circled quickly on to the sidewalk in shock. I hadn't fallen and I had nothing more than a racing heart and a light scratch on my arm.
I took some deep breaths as the driver and I apologized to one another. I don't think it was either person's fault. She should have had her turn signal on and I should have been more careful shooting that gap. Ok, but rattled, I did what the old adage says to and got back on my horse. I was a little jumpy, but pretty alert. I rode to work, out to dinner, home, and I'm headed out again today.
I'm taking my chances and I'm hoping that all my collisions are as mild because cars are huge and can crush me and the not-so-gentle reminder of that was a bit harrowing. Back to the streets...
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
My beard is not velcro
What I want to describe is not a highlight in the typical sense. I had my share of highlights in the zero win and four loss day at mixed sectionals. It was nice to get a layout D, a point block (although the ricochet was caught), to knock away a hammer, and to stymie some cuts and win at least one battle in the air. On offense it was nice to get off hucks, both flick and backhand that flew almost as I’d intended. I was particularly pleased with 2 of my 4 hammers that were pinpoint accurate, one on a quick strike at the endzone (although it was dropped) and one that flew 40 yards and opened up the zone a bit. At this tournament with a group of CUA alums, students, and a couple of friends, I had as many touches as ever before. I can’t recall a time where I’ve handled so much in a tournament. I only remember one disc on offense that hit my hand that I didn’t catch. That was on a layout bid for an up-the-line cut. I pulled a fair amount and those weren’t too bad either, but with all the touches, I also had my share of lowlights. I threw ill-advised hucks, two that really sting in the final point of a close loss in the final game. I wasted a hammer when another throw would have been more responsible in that game too. I got whipped on a couple deep cuts and I bit too hard on some fakes. I got jumped over and on and I came up short, really almost embarrassingly short, on a few bids.
The highs far outweighed the lows, and as promised I wasn’t measuring success in wins. I was proud of the team’s improvement and I’m optimistic for the college team’s future.
All that said and I still haven’t described the feeling, the events that were neither highlight nor lowlight. It may not even have been noticeable to the sidelines. It tended to come later in the day, when my hydration was waning and my muscles were tiring. I was cramping slightly, but not enough to call for an injury sub or stop the game. It happened when I made sudden bursts or changes of direction. I’d go for a disc, often on defense, but sometimes on offense. It wouldn’t always be a layout bid, but it did usually involve falling to the ground. Earlier in the day, I might have recovered and stayed on my feet, but now I found myself hitting the grass with my calf muscles in spasm. They’d stop their spasms as I hit the ground and I’d feel the pull of the game. It was still moving even if I shouldn’t have been. I had to get up, preferably quickly, but I was slowed by the remnants of cramp and the full day of play behind me. I couldn’t spring up like I wanted to, but I needed to keep playing. I’d rise up in a way that felt slow, at least slow in comparison to what I wanted it. I wanted to be a jack-in-the-box and instead I was a rusty hinge. As I used my arms to push myself up, I had to pry my face off the ground, my beard scraping against the grass. It happened more than once. I can recall at least four occurrences. My beard and the grass acted like Velcro in every way but the satisfying sound. I’d stagger up and move on as quickly as I could. I always felt a little dazed and a little grateful. It was pleasing that I hadn’t had to stay on the ground writhing in pain.
Neither high nor low, and yet my slow rise back up felt like a tribute to the game of Ultimate. The game continued on without me for those few long seconds that I struggled. As soon as I could return to the action after spending valuable seconds on the ground, I did. It was a triumph, regardless of the result. It hurt, but I was happy that I could still be part of it.
What I want to describe is not a highlight in the typical sense. I had my share of highlights in the zero win and four loss day at mixed sectionals. It was nice to get a layout D, a point block (although the ricochet was caught), to knock away a hammer, and to stymie some cuts and win at least one battle in the air. On offense it was nice to get off hucks, both flick and backhand that flew almost as I’d intended. I was particularly pleased with 2 of my 4 hammers that were pinpoint accurate, one on a quick strike at the endzone (although it was dropped) and one that flew 40 yards and opened up the zone a bit. At this tournament with a group of CUA alums, students, and a couple of friends, I had as many touches as ever before. I can’t recall a time where I’ve handled so much in a tournament. I only remember one disc on offense that hit my hand that I didn’t catch. That was on a layout bid for an up-the-line cut. I pulled a fair amount and those weren’t too bad either, but with all the touches, I also had my share of lowlights. I threw ill-advised hucks, two that really sting in the final point of a close loss in the final game. I wasted a hammer when another throw would have been more responsible in that game too. I got whipped on a couple deep cuts and I bit too hard on some fakes. I got jumped over and on and I came up short, really almost embarrassingly short, on a few bids.
The highs far outweighed the lows, and as promised I wasn’t measuring success in wins. I was proud of the team’s improvement and I’m optimistic for the college team’s future.
All that said and I still haven’t described the feeling, the events that were neither highlight nor lowlight. It may not even have been noticeable to the sidelines. It tended to come later in the day, when my hydration was waning and my muscles were tiring. I was cramping slightly, but not enough to call for an injury sub or stop the game. It happened when I made sudden bursts or changes of direction. I’d go for a disc, often on defense, but sometimes on offense. It wouldn’t always be a layout bid, but it did usually involve falling to the ground. Earlier in the day, I might have recovered and stayed on my feet, but now I found myself hitting the grass with my calf muscles in spasm. They’d stop their spasms as I hit the ground and I’d feel the pull of the game. It was still moving even if I shouldn’t have been. I had to get up, preferably quickly, but I was slowed by the remnants of cramp and the full day of play behind me. I couldn’t spring up like I wanted to, but I needed to keep playing. I’d rise up in a way that felt slow, at least slow in comparison to what I wanted it. I wanted to be a jack-in-the-box and instead I was a rusty hinge. As I used my arms to push myself up, I had to pry my face off the ground, my beard scraping against the grass. It happened more than once. I can recall at least four occurrences. My beard and the grass acted like Velcro in every way but the satisfying sound. I’d stagger up and move on as quickly as I could. I always felt a little dazed and a little grateful. It was pleasing that I hadn’t had to stay on the ground writhing in pain.
Neither high nor low, and yet my slow rise back up felt like a tribute to the game of Ultimate. The game continued on without me for those few long seconds that I struggled. As soon as I could return to the action after spending valuable seconds on the ground, I did. It was a triumph, regardless of the result. It hurt, but I was happy that I could still be part of it.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
The gamble
The revolver was a controller held in hand
The hammer cocked when the Xbox orb glowed green
The spinning cylinder replaced by scrolling films
The genre Like: Martin Chuzzlewit an open chamber
Click.
The genre Independent a loaded round
Click. click. click.
Moon starring Sam Rockwell the bullet
Play, the trigger
BANG.
Entertainment/death?
Netflix Roulette
The revolver was a controller held in hand
The hammer cocked when the Xbox orb glowed green
The spinning cylinder replaced by scrolling films
The genre Like: Martin Chuzzlewit an open chamber
Click.
The genre Independent a loaded round
Click. click. click.
Moon starring Sam Rockwell the bullet
Play, the trigger
BANG.
Entertainment/death?
Netflix Roulette
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