Bicyle Ride with a Fairy Tale Ending − 1 September, 2004 - 1 September, 2004

I was torn that night about how to spend it. I hadn't been biking much in the evenings during the week. I was afraid of being out too late, possibly getting a flat tire, and then being out when it was too dark to be riding. I also wanted to make some progress on mixing horse manure into the barren dirt in front of our house. And finally, I wanted to make sure I kept up with my workouts.

Ian urged me to indulge my desire to ride. I'd chided myself on some other evening, when we'd been driving on the road I normally take, and had seen bikers out there. I decided to bike, and to work on the garden afterwards. I wouldn't need to go to the gym if I'd ridden, so it would all fall into place quite nicely.

I took a different route than I usually do, but it was really just my favorite ride in reverse. I felt very good. The weather was good, and I had a lot of light ahead of me. Going into the first hill, I saw another cyclist who looked weaker, and my predator instinct kicked in. I would overtake him - it was just a matter of time. It was like the wolf singling out the most sickly or oldest member of the herd and bringing it down.

So already early in the ride, my juices were up. I knew I was using up energy faster and earlier than I should, but I also knew that it wasn't a long-distance ride, so I'd manage, even if I got tired a little too early. I didn't run into anyone else along that road, so I just enjoyed the beauty around me. The sun in the evening makes everything golden. That kind of sun is my favorite, and is one reason I enjoy evening rides so much.

I wasn't thrilled about riding on North Territorial. I don't generally mind if it's during the day, and there is good visibility. This is the busiest road I ride on, and it is very important that drivers can see me. I did, however, have a close encounter of the wrong kind with a big pickup truck hauling a very long and wide trailer.

This vehicle came far too close to me for comfort. Most motorists are much more careful and give me plenty of room. If they can't pass with a comfortable margin because of oncoming traffic, they just wait until they can. This motorist just barged right ahead, risking my life unnecessarily. It scared me a little, but made me more angry than scared.

I'm a pretty hardened rider, so it's pretty difficult to really frighten me. It's even getting more difficult to anger me, because so much of what stupid drivers do is just rude, as opposed to honestly dangerous. What this guy had done was downright dangerous and irresponsible. He definitely aroused my anger. But fortunately he didn't shake me, so I made no wavers in my path, which kept me safe.

So now my juices were further aroused. I was glad when I reached the road I turn onto next and which takes me out of the more dangerous environment that North Territorial creates for cyclists. But I was happy to be riding. It felt great, and I felt strong. Not far into my journey on that road, I could see in my peripheral vision something dark racing parallel to me, but mostly obscured behind foliage. There may have been some barking too, so I knew that a dog was about to unleash its vocal fury on me.

What I did not expect was that the dog was really two dogs, and that the two dogs did not remain penned in their yard, as are most dogs who bark at cyclists. These dogs sped right up onto the road after me. There was oncoming traffic traveling at 50 miles per hour or so, but the dogs were not hit by the cars, much to my disappointment. These dogs looked angry, and were gaining on me.

I remembered a great story about a friend's father, who had been in "law enforcement". He was also a cyclist, and at some point had been plagued by the same bike-chasing dog over and over. He'd made extremely polite requests of the animal's owner to keep the dog penned, but the dog continued to chase him. So one day, he hopped on his bike, but this time, he was "packing". He was a licensed gun-carrier, and knew how to use his weapon.

At the predictable moment when the dog left its yard and began chasing him, my friend's father calmly pulled out his weapon, aimed it at the animal, while still riding his bicycle, and released the weapon's load directly into the dog. The animal fell to the ground, lifeless. I'd always loved this story, and I fantasized now that I had a weapon and the skill to use it. I would have placed a single bullet between the eyes of both animals without giving it a second thought.

So now, for a third time, my adrenaline was given a big boost. I continued on my way, now thinking with glee about the mock fairy tail I could write about these dogs and their untimely demise at my hands. It would be a cross between Goldilocks and the Three Bears and Little Red Riding Hood. The dogs would play the wolf role in Riding Hood, and the three adrenaline-producing encounters would serve as too small (the cyclist I passed), too big (the cyclist-endangering trailer), and just right (the mad dogs) in Goldilocks.

Once I reached Huron River Drive, where I once again began to see other cyclists, my adrenaline was probably at its peak, and I sped along with no apparent loss of strength despite my exertion. I made it up the largest hill (or bump, as my Dad would call it) with no trouble. I crossed one bridge and the train tracks. The next hurdle was the second bridge.

The only reason this bridge is any kind of hurdle is that where it meets the pavement, there is a one-half inch or so vertical gap, so I generally jump the bike to avoid hitting these bumps head-on. I jumped the first bump just as I always have. I noticed a man sitting next to a canoe, and nodded pleasantly. Then I turned my attention to the next jump. I have no memory of what happened next.