Two bags, four whews and seven words.

[Steve Lawler <slawler@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Yesterday was a nice warm day here in northern New Jersey. The sun was
shining; the birds were singing; the road was calling my name. However
wind gusts were over 30 mph and those singing birds were being pushed
around like weaklings by the school yard bully. I rode the Blue Devil
north on Rt. 23 to my son's wrestling match in Kinnelon. The wind gusts
made the ride so much more interesting. 

During my return trip the wind wasn't quite as bad as the ride out. I
decided to take it easy. I had seen a speed trap on the south bound side
of Rt. 23 near 287 on the ride out. I really didn't need to meet any new
people. While keeping an eye on all the cages on their way to the mall I
was watching what the wind was kicking around. Mostly leaves. An
occasional newspaper page. And there it was up ahead, flying erratically
on a search and destroy mission. The first plastic shopping bag of
Spring. Having heard a tale of one that engulfed a fellow rider's head
on an off ramp I perked up and watched it's actions. Prepared to grab
the evil demon in mid-flight in case it went for my head, I was able to
avoid it. I saw it in the mirrors stalking its next victim. Whew.

The Rt.23/US46/I80 interchange was looming up ahead. This interchange,
made up of ramps going up and down, right curves, left curves, left
exits and entrances, right exits and entrances and a decreasing radius
or two thrown in for good measure. It has all the potential to be a
great place to ride. But, alas, this is not a perfect world and we are
forced to share the fun roads with the evil killer myopic blue hairs in
their Crown Victorias and the cell phone yakking boobs in their SUVs.

In Wayne, about a mile or two before I reached the interchange, while
traveling in the left lane, I saw the mother of of all plastic bags.
Floating ever so gracefully in the wind up ahead, over the right
shoulder was a clear dry cleaner's bag. "Watch out for the bag. Watch
out for the bag.," I said to myself. The wake of a truck in the right
lane pulled the bag down and sent it darting towards the center lane
like a contortionist running back. It avoided two cars then went over
the roof of a car in the center lane and down toward my wheels. The
seven words that you can't say on television ran through my head in a
millisecond. I felt the bag hit my right boot. The interchange was fast
approaching, so I merely stuck out my foot and shook it. I could feel
the bag no longer. Whew.

Suddenly, I heard that dreadful sound that I fear so much: a siren. It
was accompanied by a light show and a uniformed officer of the law. Once
again, the seven words. While I was busy evading the bag he had come up
behind me. I signaled right and changed lanes. He continued on his merry
way. Whew.

I had to move another lane to the left so I could make the first exit.
After that was accomplished, I looked at my right boot and saw, to my
surprise, the bag was sucking the life out of my boot. I stuck my foot
out, turned it outward and the bag released its death grip. Whew.

I was lucky enough to get away unscathed. The bag could have gotten
itself wrapped in my chain or stuck in my radiator or oil cooler. I just
wanted to inform my fellow riders of my addition to the list of things
that are out to get us. This is the list that includes myopic blue hairs
in their Crown Victorias, cell phone yakking boobs in their SUVs, NYC
car service drivers and flying plastic bags.

The aforementioned intersection:
http://members.home.net/slawler/234680.gif

Without lifting your finger from the screen, see if you can follow 23
South starting at the top left corner!

- -- 
Steve "Devil Dawg" Lawler
A Red Sox fan living in Yankee country

2000 Sprint ST "Blue Devil"
1980 Honda CM400T "Little Red Putt-Putt"

I.A.T.S.E. Locals #52 & 84

"I'm not a real carpenter, but I play one on t.v."

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