Hey, I had the day off and wasn’t about to let it go to waste. I threw a couple garbage bags to cover the “valuables” in my pannier bike bag for just in case the weather man was actually correct (they’ll often call for rain around here even if it’s probably not going to just to cover their asses) and took off.
Navigating down College Road was as easy and annoying as I thought it would be – I drove my car to the edge of town and unloaded the Trek 7100 just past 17th Street. The time was 1:45 p.m.
After the third instance of a passing motorist either yelling or revving their engine as the went by, I began to wonder what it is about being in a car that makes some people target bicyclists, pedestrians, miniature horses and Siamese wood chucks with barrages of verbal assaults and antics which can only be categorized as tantrums behind the wheel. It’s seriously as if some people take offense to the fact that other human beings have the sheer audacity to get from one point to another by using their feet in a way other than to press a gas pedal. Do they assume I am either homeless, a lunatic, or, worse yet down here in the Bible® Belt, a liberal? Even so, does that give them the right to potentially cause me to wreck and land with my head on the pavement in the path of a never-ending parade of SUVs and dual-wheeled American trucks with confederate flag decals in the back window and fishing pole holders made of PVC pipe on the front bumper, all traveling over 55 miles per hour?
Of course, the answer to all this is no. We know, and even they know. They would feel terrible if they were to kill somebody, just realizing and having to forever live with the thought that they – one of the confederacy’s “shoulda been aborted” kids – were the cause of it … but they continue to do it. Today I was proud of myself, for it was a step closer toward not being so damn afraid of traffic while on my bike; I’m getting better at this all the time. The awesome bike lanes they’ve got on the shoulder of the road between Carolina Beach and Fort Fisher made it even better, as did the Snow Cut Path bike trail along Old Dow Road I found when riding back by the state park in CB.
This is all I’ve got to say about this trip – it’s kind of boring, actually, and I anticipate that this blog will be one of the ones that Google Analytics reveals to me that no one looks at. But that’s fine because I know Sean and my dad will. They are my blog’s unconditional fans.
Below are some pictures I took at the battle grounds at Fort Fisher. Apparently some pretty decent Americans lost their lives in vain there, though that’s just what the endless torrent of signs said. It sounded more to me like some people who were fighting for the right to keep slaves and got their asses handed to them were, for reasons I don’t know, being remembered. Along these same lines, I’ll just throw in here that I passed a road called “President Davis” in Kure Beach. Jesus.