Trains

What’s the rush, really, when you’re outside on a perfectly pink and sky blue evening with everyone who’s anyone to such a degree that no one isn’t someone; you wait for one train going south until (at least those who are responsible for others than themselves) realize that railroad crossing gates are there for a reason, to wit, not getting killed by a giant metal behemoth that takes a minimum of a mile to stop.

Good to see some of the recently unseen and even if no one is ever as special as they think they are, the good news is that more than one person was reminded they do like riding bikes after all.

Post Ben Country, any fear of being abandoned with no direction home is minimized; I might have gotten lost, with effort, but only in the sense of being out of touch with those that might have brought me there.

It’s surprisingly comforting to realize that the mere act of keeping one’s eyes open constitutes something; the question then is whether being something is any reason for anything.

I did learn that a freeway median really can be a park if there are picnic tables and a patio.  It’s like how the selection of cold beer at the Gross Out is kind of limited for a place that sells toilet paper by the palette, but if you’re willing to take a chance on a brand that couldn’t even make the cut for Trader Joe’s, you might end up being reasonably satisfied with the outcome.

Not a lot of miles when all was said and done, but plenty of smiles nevertheless; the combination of Derrick and Long Island Ice Tea never disappoints in the department of LOL AF.

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results; when you keep on riding and once again the expected hilarity is manifest, though, that’s just insanely great.