Micro Cat Naps

After 7,000 miles, I changed out my rear bicycle tyre last week. And only 20 miles on the new tyre, I caught a utility razor blade this morning, tick-tick-tick-tick, nearly shredding it all the way through the sidewall. I have to replace it although I obviously don't want to. Only 20 miles. Some tyres get to live full, productive lives, while others are cut short prematurely. Doesn't seem fair, does it?

Off to a later start this morning and traffic was heavy. I was pinned down between the curb and a tractor trailer at 47th but still I felt in control. It's really strange how some days I feel powerless against traffic, while on others, invincible. I am diligent about knowing my whereabouts, but also this morning a red car pulled out into the street and really startled me. It shouldn't have.

On a bicycle I'm forced to give traffic my due diligence. Contrast this with driving a car...how many times have you arrived at work with no recollection of how you got there? It's rote, so much so you ignore your surroundings and ignore yourself. I witnessed, on more than one occasion, my former brother-in-law take micro-cat-naps while driving us back from duck hunting. Freeway speeds and micro-cat-naps...

Driving is such a bore these days that you scan your cabin, looking for things to take your mind elsewheres. And you find them. The dead fly on the dash. The sound of the leaf caught in the fresh air intake blower motor. The half-empty water bottle that you can't reach but rolls up and down, up and down, back and forth, now under the passenger's seat. Didn't I already listen to Onslaught? What's that rattle from the rear door interior trim? This thing still shifts like a god-damn garbage truck and I paid those incompetent thieves $800 to fix it! Warranty? I'll give them their fucking warranty! I'll take their warranty and shove it up their...

Next time you're driving, take the time to notice the hundreds of thousands of tyre skid marks on freeway lanes where there's an approaching neckdown. All those people slamming on the brakes, caught unawares, caught in the cobwebs of their random, elsewhere thoughts. How many end up on top of the car in front of them?