Man, I hate crashing. It's not that I don't ride on the edge sometimes, and expect to occasionally pay for my moto-trans(a)gression; I do. But yesterday I was able to get all the way to the shop during the season's gnarliest shitstorm of a snowstorm with no problems, and then today, I had to use my mad skillz to navigate the crusty snowpack that had been thrown over the fence by the MnDot goons onto my perfectly nice 394 frontage path. Turned over the 47 x 18 with suprising alacrity for such a pasty geezer. But I was to meet my nemesis at the base of the Mt. Curve climb. A bathtub size chunk of boilerplate ice mocked my attempt at straight-line servitude and the Steamroller's wheels went horizontal in all of a nano-second. I was intimate with the asphalt in a heartbeat. "Fuck this city!" I bellowed to no one in particular, but I'm sure the fellow pulling on his Briggs & Stratton snowblower starter heard me. Gathering myself quickly, I then pushed my bike up the icy slope, and for the rest of the ride I had "Police Story" by Black Flag stuck in my head:
This fucking city
is run by pigs
they take the rights away
from all the kids
understand it
we're fighting a war
we can't win
NO WAY
they hate us
we hate them
Walk down the street
I flip them off
they hit me across the head
with a billy club
understand it
we're fighting a war
we can't win
NO WAY
they hate us
we hate them
So. I go to court
pay for my crime
stand in line
pay bail
while they serve time
understand it
we're fighting a war
we can't win
NO WAY
they hate us
we hate them
P.S. Hollywood dropped by the shop this morning to remind me that tonight is the Motley Tuesday Reunion at the Star Bar up in Friendly Fridley. Get your Vince Neil on! gnome sane?