Wednesday, June 11, 2008

I am the bowl of petunias

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

I wear my helmet all the time now. This is a recent and deeply uncool decision that I have made, mostly related to what would have been the helmetless death of an amateur track rider of whom I am podcastly aware. Tim Jackson, he got all fucked up. I’m not sure how many bones he broke in what appears to have been a relatively innocuous, if high speed, collision, but the closest estimate seems to be fucking all of them. There is little doubt in my mind that without his helmet his brain would have been so much Heinz spaghetti hoops on soggy white toast. And so I’ve been donning my prophylactic ponce hat. I realise that this fucks with your hardened image of Gimme as the death-defying daredevil of Dublin City, but folks, I ain’t going out like that. I am determined that all this cooking, cleaning and ass-wiping is going to be paid back in my doddery, drooling and hopefully drug-addicted old age.

And yet, and fucking yet.

I haven’t written about my new bicycle yet. Yes, I have a new bicycle. Baby makes three. I don’t want to sully her, you see, taint her with lurid bleughy descriptions of her svelte frame, her curvaceous bars, her sexy, sexy brakelessness. I’ll be brief. She be light, she be quick, she be mostly fixed. And Manuel sweetie, just for you, she be Kona.

And today, approaching Fairview, (why is it always Fairview? What the fuck is it about Fairview that My Death loves so very fucking much?) me and my newest love get clipped by a car cunt. 04, I notice, gold, long and in a big fucking hurry to get to the next red light. I wobble, balance but most essentially, keep pedalling. (One is obliged to keep pedalling on a fixed gear bike or one is in danger of breaking one’s fucking face.) At this point the thing to do, the path to take, is one of restraint and forbearance. A deep breath and a realisation that there is nothing to be gained by confrontation for the sake of confrontation. And so I steady myself, speed up and catch this car. Still slowly turning over, I unleash my standard obscene invective.

The car window thrums down and I am faced with the ugliest, dirtiest, scumbaggiest little fat cunt on the road. He returns the invective. He threatens to run me down. We’re parallel but he attempts to swerve into me anyway. And then he spits. He is not a good spitter. His salvia makes it as far as the passenger seat. ‘Classy, dude.’ I giggle. Scumbags hate being called ‘dude’. He goes purple. I smile. I take off. And the fucker chases me.

This is one insane out of control troglodyte that I’m dealing with here. The red mist is down. He’s doing fight and unencased as I am in metal, I’m doing flight. The traffic is heavy enough to give me an advantage, but I still have to take risks. I have to go very, very fast. I have to weave. I find myself in the middle of the road with no clear path to the far bike line in sight. I glance quickly over my shoulder. Goldie has managed to pull into my lane and is rapidly reducing my advantage. Perhaps he just wants to scare me. If so, mission fucking accomplished. But I truly believe that he has lost it and that he means to hit me. He’s closing. I’m doing about 40k but he’s closing. His engine roars.

I see a disgustingly dangerous gap in the oncoming traffic. Split second decision. I take the gap. Horns. Brakes. I make it. My would be murderer flies past. He would have hit me, I see now. He had given himself no option.

One part of me wants to start carrying a brick so that, with a pre-planned escape route, I can calmly take out the rear window of these cunts that would clip me.. That would slow me down, though. I hate being slow.

The other part of me points out that there’s no fucking point wearing a helmet if I’m going to insist on putting myself in these situations.

14 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Medbh said...

Good grief.
People are fucking insane, Gimme.
He was pumped up with testosterone and a low IQ to be sure.

Have I told you about my cyclist friend who carried fake grenades which he threw into passing fucknut cars who threatened him?
Scares the piss out of them.

Sniffle&Cry said...

A bike with no brakes, no free wheel (I love free wheel, there is no other reason), a bike which I have to give up smoking, drinking maybe. And then these scumbag Goldie cunts.
This is the bike for the industrious Krauts who will so not win. Rosie is still there with the Spanish and Dutch classical. She has a better temperament.

Gimme, be wide.

savannah said...

holy moley, sugar, what insanity!
watch your back, that asshole is till out there! xox

problemchildbride said...

Holy colander, what a madman! But a nice dodge.

Helmets are good. A good thing. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am glad that catastrophic brain injury is now a little less likely in your future.

Seriously, though, spaghetti hoops rule. Piping hot with white pepper.

fatmammycat said...

Jesus, fucking wankers. Just try remember, bike versus half a ton o' machinery. Also try remember, not scumbag versus scumbag.
I say this to the paramour on a regular basis, yet he still insists on foaming at the mouth when he's driving. It's just not worth getting hurt over, even though sometimes you're driven to the edge of madness by folk.

Ellie said...

Has bike number two taken up permanent residence in my hallway???

Rosie said...

i used to carry pebbles in my pocket to throw at cars who splashed me on my way into work.

have you named this svelte, sexy, curvaceous ride yet? (Rosie will be hard to beat)

catherine said...

I was going to cycle to work (via Fairview) for the first time today. With no helmet. Kinda glad I chickened out now.

Conan Drumm said...

Did you get the full reg? That fucker will be looking for you, and you know it. Be super observant. I hope you're on a different bike the next time, it'd give you more options.

gimme a minute said...

They should come free with every bike.

You know not what you miss. Expect rhapsodic post on the purity and joy of fixed gear riding in the near future.

Will do siúcra, will do.

I agree. The Bridge Crew don't like them, spoiled as they are with Barilla.

I believe that I'll be going with the calm reflection from now on.

For the next few days anyway.

She has a name you know.

And ahem, yes, I'll bring her home on Sunday.

She remains nameless. I'll get another competition going.

It's a pity that Darragh is so masculine a name.

You should absolutely not be dissuaded by my idiocy. There is an off road bike lane all the way through Fairview, which had I not been stupidly chasing trouble, I would have been safely cycling upon.

Just the 04 bit. I don't suppose that narrows it down much.

But I wouldn't go anywhere near the guards with this one, anyway. That could lead to us meeting again. And this is not something which holds much attraction to me.

Manuel said...

there's nothing like throwing you leg over a kona.........glad you're still alive......but I call first dibs on whatever bikes survive your inevitable death......

Anonymous said...

Glad to hear you didn't get injured. I think (just from observation during my 9 months of living there) it is super tough to be a cyclist in Dublin with the insane drivers and the well meaning but terrible drivers out there on the roads. I didn't count the number of the Learner drivers on their phones texting while driving. I did however notice one too many cyclists doing the most dangerous stunts, running red lights etc, almost putting forward a deathwish. I think anyone, driver or rider, can be an asshole on the road, it's just that in the case of an asshole cyclist, it could get messier, i.e. the spaghetti brains... That guy should be locked away or at least given a good beating.

Tim Jackson- Masi Guy said...

Be safe out there- the world is full of nuts behind the wheel.

And yes, helmets are good. Damned good. I am only here to say this because of my helmet. Without it, I would be dead. The neuro surgeon who saw me that first night in the ER told my folks, "without his helmet, we wouldn't be talking about recovery- we'd be talking about organ donations." If that doesn't inspire you a little... good luck out there.

gimme a minute said...

You'll want the twisted wreck of whatever I die on, to mount on your wall.

I only break lights defensively. I just have a very wide personal definition of 'defensive'.

Masi Guy:
if it wasn't for your crash, I'd still be flying about the place in my very fetching Fidel Castro hat.

Good luck on the long road.

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