West Side Wednesday

Today was a solo day. Out on Jackson Ave amongst the strip malls, drive-thru restaurants, and Wal-Mart hangers on. But I was prepared, had the gear already at my house, and an idea of how long and what to expect.

If only for the loneliness of a day like today the ipod was in my pocket and the wire ran inside my shirt and up the collar. Inside Chick-fil-A Justin Townes Earle's new album shielded me from the continuous onslaught of Christian Rock. It took two times through to finish but, since I left the house at 6:45, the exciting but mellow tunes eased me into the day. They're all smiles there but creepy and I wish they wouldn't talk to me so much.

By the time I reached High Point coffee it was time for J. Roddy Walston and the Business. I danced a little with a squeegee in my hand. Over my shoulder I noticed two women talking. I was unable to hear but I'm sure they were talking about my dancing. What else could they be talking about at that hour. Outside I had to stop a car and remind him to order at the speaker before pulling forward. I don't know what causes it but it's happened so many times, there's something about me standing in the way that makes people forget to order and to rush to run me over.

At Cocomo's, one of Oxford's 17 Chevron stations, all serving a variety of breakfast biscuits and hearty plate lunches, I had to crank the volume on The Gaslight Anthem because the cashiers had the radio on and that Kid Rock song about summers, where he sings about Skynard and then steals their rift and later steals a Warren Zevon rift was on. Go ahead and click the link, it isn't actually Kid Rock.

Outside Cocomo's I had to disturb the dozen or so grasshoppers hanging out at one of the windows. When I did one of the grasshoppers flew off the glass and hit me in the face. This would be the moment that a Zen monk would talk about enlightenment if a Zen monk had been there.

like getting hit by a truck

I didn't have a beer before going for a bike ride tonight and I very nearly paid the price. But today a full size(oversized) American made pick up truck with a campus parking sticker on the back passed me no more than six inches from my shoulder. I flipped him the bird but he never touched his breaks. The very next car, a yellow suv, scooted over a bit but the rear bumper on the right side was dangling off a foot and a half. I still don't know how that flapping plastic didn't put me on the ground.

I think reading Cara Hoffman's novel So Much Pretty would have about the same kind of wallop as getting hit my one of those trucks. I haven't read the entire novel yet, though I saw many of the early pages while it was still called Butterfly, but from the parts she's read to me over the phone it's a hard hitting and intensely written novel.

You can pre-order the novel here, but as a guy who works in an independent bookstore I'd encourage you to take the author, title, or ISBN to your closest indie bookstore and have them order it for you now.

Do it.

above the fold

after working most of the day and then shopping at Kroger for groceries and playing with Joe Lon, I drank a beer on my front porch while reading a Raymond Carver story and listening to a few John Prine songs.

possibly I did one thing out of order but when I finished the beer I put on my lycra shorts and my fancy shoes and took the road bike out for a short ride. out of my neighborhood I turned left and headed up College Hill Road.

it was a little after six and thus the driving home from work crowd had already passed but there were still cars passing me. some of them scooted their driver's side tires into the other lane, some didn't, and some were especially diligent and patiently waited behind me until it was safe to pass.

this concern for cyclists isn't normal around here but on the front page of today's paper was an article about how drivers and cyclists are still working things out on the road. if you read the article and not just the headline it said that drivers aren't following the three foot barrier. maybe the folks on my ride had read the article and didn't want to be the dumbass that hit a cyclist on the day it was in the paper.

i'm thinking about writing a letter to the editor asking them to print that article every two weeks.