The rules of the road

By Jack Elliott
Contributor

Ah, this blissful summer weather. Time to fire us the bike and peddle my a#$@ around town. This is urged on by the stern suggestion of my wife The Pearl of the Orient and the double digit readings on my blood glucose metre.
But there are hazards on the road.
Now, everyone knows I follow all the rules of the road for Rainy River. Slow down and teeter to a stop then before tipping over pour on the coal (or beef, pork, fat or whatever best describes my bulk) and peeling through the intersection. Hesitate too long, and you are in danger of being rear ended, by the criminal element, or some other impatient soul.
One thing I never think of, is avoiding oncoming traffic. Maybe that isn’t so wise as there are still a few cell phones and text messagers in use on the road in spite of the best efforts of Ticket Tom and his cronies. I definitely am not guilty as I no longer have a cell and definitely need both mitts on the handlebar to maintain a semblance of un-wobbly locomotion.
Some people help protect me. Pickle always manages to heckle me as I glide by…Uh, sorry for almost running you down as I wheeled across the sidewalk to the bakery the other morning. The Runt on the other hand gives me a friendly set of blasts on his horn: a hangover from his hoghead days- three shorts and a long.
My main hazard seems to be other bikers. We have a few blind corners and a plethora of stop signs in good old Rainy, plus there seems to be certain exhilaration in running the downhill grade and then cutting the corner sharp. It’s the racing streak coming out, I guess.
This morning as I approached said corner and shifted down preparing for the uphill grind, Stroker and the Onion King were deep in conference on the far side of the street so rather than cutting the corner too sharp I stayed prudently in the middle of my lane prepared to cross over and offer them some sage advice.
It was fortuitous because suddenly around the corner tight on the inside corner, as far over in the wrong lane as she could get, flashed Suzie Q. Her 18-speed was is top cog and she was peddling like a demon. I don’t know what her hurry was. After all Hubby is now retired and probably wasn’t even out of bed yet. Hmmm… maybe that’s a clue.
Fortunately my reflexes are slow to dead so I did not dodge to the right as would be natural, thus avoiding a head on. Susie Q passed me on the inside and kept on rolling. My only muscle to contract was my bladder.
So should I take up singing as I ride or install a noise maker? Depends?