| | Recently I've been working on improving my bike-riding skills, pulling off stupid and unsafe yet oddly impressive tricks like riding without hands or taking my legs off the pedals and hooking them on top of the handlebars as I cruise. These attempts have all gone fairly well overall, and though I still encounter some trouble folding my body enough to raise my feet above nipple height (not to mention the difficulties I have justifying why I would ever want to do that in the first place), I figured it was time to entertain the prospect of bigger and better things: namely, riding my bike standing up on the pedals.
I'd seen this trick performed before by Rob Cameron, who lived with me in Paloma my freshman year and with whom I would often ride to PoliSci 1 lecture. The prospect of sleeping in drearily uncomfortable chairs inside an auditorium filled with a few hundred other tired and apathetic students did nothing to deter Rob from gleefully executing some incredibly accomplished bicycle tricks. He would turn sharp corners with his hands in his pockets, pop wheelies to jump onto sidewalks, slide smoothly of the seat while gliding gracefully into a bicycle parking spot, and, most importantly, hitch himself up to a standing position while careening down the gentle but haphazard slopes of White Plaza. Rob had skill, elegance, and a natural athleticism. Perhaps one day I could too, I told myself each night, in hesitant yet daring whispers muffled by the protective secrecy of my blankets.
So it was that this afternoon as I rode through White Plaza, I decided that this was the moment that I would throw caution to the winds, let go of my handlebars, and stand straight and proud as I lightly skimmed the surface of the pavement surrounding the post office. I perched up my butt, straightened my back, and cautiously shifted my shoulders backward as I trundled along. Though the first few attempts were rocky, I was soon standing successfully for over 1.5 seconds at a time before falling back down and desperately grabbing my handlebars in minor panic, no small feat.
And then, catastrophe struck. Forgetting that my bicycle employed a coaster brake system, which kicks in when the rider pedals backwards, I attempted to shift my standing weight on the pedals for better balance by pushing my left foot down towards the back of the bike. The entire frame jolted beneath my feet, and inertia launched my body forward as the bicycle froze momentarily from the force of such a mighty push against the brake. Luckily, however, my quick wits saved me from almost certain disaster to my skull by quickly launching my feet off the pedals and moving my butt backwards so as to land safely onto the seat. However, removing my feet from the brakes deactivated the break, and in a split second, the bike was zooming along just as quickly as before. My wits had not counted on this sort of behaviour, and it was not long before their dreadful miscalculation came knocking on my back door.
It has always been a bit of a mystery to me why they design bicycle seats with that strange, beak-shaped protuberance in front. Perhaps this curious contraption is supposed to lend support to the sacs of unmentionables which would otherwise be, quite literally, left hanging. Yet I recall reading many a study that attested to the special affinity bicycle seats had for ruining reproductive abilities, and it seems that this particular piece of padded protrusion is the most likely culprit, seeing as how it sits directly under the poor victims.
Whatever the reason for its inclusion, that piece of the seat took away a small shred of my dignity today. Though I had moved backwards in order to compensate for the forward movement of my body relative to the bike, I had not counted on a sudden return to such speed, and so as my backside drew near to the frame of the bike, I felt a sharp stab pushing against the cheeks of my butt, and in a moment of fear and anguish, cried out with a strangled woe. I careened across the plaza, tires skidding and feet hopping up and down off the ground as I attempted to jump back up again or stop the chaotic wheeling of the vehicle. But alas, it was to no avail, and my bicycle continued plowing its way through both the plaza and my tragically defiled manhood.
When I finally came to a stop just before slamming into the clear glass windows of the post office, I breathed a sigh of relief. I dismounted my bicycle, my bicycle dismounted me, and I clutched my chest to quiet the hammering of my heart. It was today that I learned a lesson in how not to execute ostentatious braggadocio, and though my anus remains forever violated by a piece of plastic and the unfortunate interactions of the laws of physics, I can now find strength in what I have overcome. I can look my bike square in the handlebars without fear, and I can take control of that which used to control me. Whenever I face tribulations in life, I remember that moment when the rubber hit the inappropriately symbolic road, and I fight these tribulations with renewed strength. I have endured ordeals and I have suffered long and tragic trials, but I have recovered my dignity, and I stand before you tonight a newly whole man.
Oh, by the way, this is probably incredibly insensitive to actual rape narratives. Oops. =/
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| | Posted 11/7/2006 5:55 PM - 60 Views - 10 eProps - 5 comments
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