I went for a jog on a new bike path near my house. The dog and I cranked out nearly three miles, simultaneously dragging each other along at different points during the run. But as we did our cool down walk toward the end of our jaunt, we ran into someone. Almost literally.
There was this guy, probably 45-50 years old, riding a bike. The end of the bike path is a street with a railroad crossing, and this guy was riding on the street past the entrance to the path. As you might expect from a railroad crossing, there are — you know — railroad tracks across the road. While that seems like common sense to you and I, intelligent readers, Mr. Bike Man seemed to be unaware.
Not more than two feet away from me, he never slowed down and he careened wildly over the tracks in the street. His front wheel hit a rut and he went from riding at a good clip to a screeching halt. And since every action has an equal and opposite reaction, the bike may have stopped but Mr. Bike Man kept going. The back end of the bike kicked way up while the front wheel stayed still. Mr. Bike Man was catapulted forward, over the handlebars which went between his legs. And it was then, while he was in mid-air, that I heard it.
It was a combination scream/squeak/sound of terror. It was a sound I’ve heard from my 8-year-old female cousin when she saw a spider. I don’t blame the guy, he (and I) thought he was in for a mortal wipeout right there on County Road in Falmouth. But thankfully Fate was looking out for him. He actually ended up landing on his feet, while his bicycle did a full flip and landed just inches away from him. It was actually kind of impressive.
Now keep in mind, I was just standing there waiting to cross the road with my dog when all of this happened right in front of my face. I just stood there in open-mouthed disbelief hardly believing what I Just saw. I should’ve immediately asked him if he was OK, but my mind hadn’t processed the series of events that just took place.
He looked at me and saw I was the only one around. Then he picked up his bike, nodded at me, and rode away. Finally I was able to speak.
“Dude!” I yelled as he furiously pedaled away. “Are you OK? That was friggin awesome!”
He never looked back. And it wasn’t because of his near wipeout. It was because of the girlish shriek he emitted.
And that’s when I realized something: Mr. Bike Man could never be a blogger. I know what you’re thinking: what does some douchebag who nearly killed himself on a Schwinn have to do with blogging? The answer is: a lot!
In my short stint as an Internet scribe, I’ve learned that you can’t hold back. People want truth, and raw truth at that. They want you to let them in to your weird little world. They want honesty and forthrightness. And readers (that’s you all fine folks) know when you’re holding back. Hell, if that were me I would’ve laughed hysterically with any onlooker who witnessed my Evil Knievel impression. And then I would’ve told you all about it. Even if the seat ended up lodged right in my fat ass, I would’ve spared no detail. Because you, my faithful following, deserve to know the intricacies of my posterior.
But seriously, that’s why I love bloggers. They’re not afraid to put themselves out there, even at the risk of looking stupid. Everyone does humiliating things and ends up looking like a moron, but only the brave and self-deprecating ones use their own misery to uplift and entertain the masses.
And besides, non-bloggers like Mr. Bike Man end up with their stories posted for the world to see anyways because people like me are lurking out there. Waiting patiently to document your embarrassment.
So how about it my brothers and sisters? Leave me a comment detailing something stupid or embarrassing you’ve done lately and let’s all celebrate our stupidity together.
Unlike boring Mr. Bike Man.