Conference noted::bicycle

    
                    <  Great Stuff ! >
    
         Chip...that's all so true it's a riot !
    
                          ...Dave
    

Article 592 of REC.BICYCLES:
PATH: Orion!UCSD!AMES!Think!Bloom-Beacon!TUT.CIS.OHIO-STATE.EDU! (it goes on)
FROM: FISH@IHLPA.ATT.COM (Bob Fishell)
Newsgroups: Rec.Bicycles
Subject: My wild ride...
Keywords: PG-13; Violence, Adult situations...
Message-ID: <7888@ihlpa.att.com>
Date: 6-May-88 21:32:49 Gmt

With all the acrimony that is being passed  around about bikes vs. cars,
I thought this would be a good time to talk about a really  interesting
bike ride.

It was a friday.  Fridays are usually good days, only because there are
alot of teenagers drinking & driving, and there're alot of other people
who are already in a bad mood, & in a hurry to get home from work.  The
factories usually pay on fridays,  so there's a fair number of big beer-
commercial types  cruisin' around in their 4x4's, looking to  kick some
ripe  butt while they're slammin' down a few brews.  Truly, a cyclist's,
paradise...

I stuck a full mag in  my Mac-10,  and put another one under the saddle.
The gun itself is fairly light,  and it fits into the water-bottle cage
pretty well.  I stuffed a couple of grenades into the back of my jersey,
and slipped the Rambo knife  into it's sheath,  lashing it to the  fork
blades  of my 2-wheeled  human-powered urban assault vehicle.  For good
measure,  I  grabbed a  thermite grenade  and  dropped  it into the one
remaining jersey  pocket.  This is a little more  weight than I usually
carry, but hey, it was truly a friday night after all.

I caught the  first one  just about a mile  from home.  He was a type-a
businessman,  yuppie,  semipsychotic in a BMW,  and he didn't  like the
fact that I was occupying  two feet of his lane.  He let me know with a
horn blast, & a truly emphatic showing of middle finger etiquette. It's
pretty hard to hit a moving  car while pedaling a bicycle,  even with a
machine gun.  I let loose with four short bursts  before I put one into
the gas tank, and the bimmer was toast. Fortunately for me,  the bozo's
bimmer made it to the shoulder  after it exploded,  so I didn't have to
find a detour around the flaming wreckage.

The next ones didn't come along for another five or six miles. It was a
couple of punks in a blown '72 camaro, and they were haulin' fast. They
slowed down alongside of  me so the dude riding shotgun  could lean out
the window, and commence barking at me like a dog. After six seconds of
this,  the driver opened  up the blower on that  overgrown engine,  and
left me in a  cloud of burnt oil and rubber. If only they'd known about
the traffic light around the bend.  I spun even  faster as I approached
the back of the camaro,  moving  towards the  center of  the road  so I
could pass it on  the driver's side.  As I rolled past the window,  the
punks were  mumbling some sort of  hard-core gibberish.  But their mock
english ceased,  as I tossed the grenade through the open window,  onto
the back seat.  I caught a glimpse of them frantically scrambling after
it just as it went off. Luckily, the shrapnel that did hit me, did very
little damage.

I'd had enough of the city traffic, so I headed west, out into the farm
country. As I went past a barnyard, 2 large dobermans took off after me,
hellbent for  flesh and blood.  I dropped them both with one burst, and
sprayed the farmhouse with a couple of short bursts to remind the owner
about the leash laws in effect everywhere in the US.

A short time later,  I heard the roar of huge knobby tires behind me. I
squinted into my third eye to see an enormous Ford pickup truck, with a
serious lift-kit, & wheels up to my shoulders. I could hear the country
music blaring out of the cab as it pulled up closer to me. The two guys
in the truck  were wearing stetsons,  and they were both guzzling brews.
Truly,  an archetypical,  redneck-mobile.  I wanted to blast them right
then, but I waited to see what they had in store for me. Sometimes this
type will just pass you right by,  but not these dudes.  The one in the
passenger's seat  had a styrofoam cooler full of ice-water,  and he was
gettin' ready to dump it on yours truly. That was all I could stand. As
soon as the  truck pulled up  even with me,  I put a burst  through the
window,  dismantling  the  passenger.  I hadn't  planned on missing the
driver, but  the truck  continued down the road.  I tried to finish off
the driver through the blood spattered windows in back of the cab,  but
wouldn't ya' know it,  the mag was empty. I couldn't reload while I was
rolling, & the truck had already turned around to come after me.  I had
maybe three  seconds to decide  what to do.  So I did a time-trial turn,
pulled out a grenade, and looked over my shoulder at the truck that was
now speeding towards me.  I knew this would have to be timed just right.
I pulled the pin, dropped the grenade and began sprinting for all I was
worth.  I heard the blast and felt something graze my right arm.  In my
third eye, I saw the truck in flames & out of control.  It did a really
spectacular  flip as went into a  ditch,  then overturned.  There was a
second explosion as the gas tank finally erupted.

I decided to cut the ride short,  since my arm was bleeding.  The wound
was superficial, yet nasty enough to cause sufficient discomfort. I had
regretted all the ammo I'd wasted on the hog in the BMW.  But then I've
always said that one of these days  I'd have to get some tracer bullets
to help me aim the Mac.  Oh well, I reloaded the gun, expecting to find
a few drunks and a few more punks on the way home.

That's when I heard a siren blaring from behind me.  I tried to play it
cool, hoping they weren't after me. But the sheriff's car slowed behind
me, the pa speaker blaring, telling me to get off the bike and lie face
down on the ground. I hated the thought of wasting a cop, but if they'd
get out & do their jobs,  I wouldn't have to pedal around doing my part
to rid the area of it's rat population. But I had an idea. I yanked the
thermite grenade out of my jersey & tossed it on the hood of the patrol
car.  I'd hoped for the element of surprise, and I got it. The deputies
were too  startled to  shoot at me.  The grenade  went off, setting the
engine compartment on fire.  The deputies managed to stop the car,  but
by  the time they got out, I was a good  quarter mile down the road.  I
heard shots behind me but I knew they'd never hit me at this range with
.38 Smith & Wessons.

My esacpe was short lived though. I saw two more cruisers up ahead with
riflemen crouched behind  them.  I heard more sirens from behind, and I
knew this was it.  I leaned forward in a tuck  to make myself a smaller
target,  pulled out the Mac,  and began firing wildly  at the roadblock.
If I had to go now, I was going to take some of them with me.  This had
been a good life, I'd had some good rides.

I regretted  that they  were after the wrong guy.  I wasn't  the  enemy,
although they perceived me as such. Then I felt something hot tug at my
shoulder. I reached up expecting to pull my hand away bloody, and found
my boss's hand instead.  "Wake up! You flatulent bag of omnipotence!" -
stated the motor-vehicle-loving slave-master. "It's friday afternoon! -
Time to go home!"

I gained my composure, gathered my jacket & briefcase, and firmly
resolved never again to consume the cafeteria's chile.

    that's hillarious!!!  Great stuff, you always laugh harder when
    something hits home!  The keywords say "adult situations,violence."
    No Kidding!

    
    	Re 963.5
    
    	Wow! That's right, I almost forgot about 'em.
    
    	Yup, always wear my "GORETEXT" socks when rat hunting!
    
    	HAR! dee har har...
    
    	What's that? Goretext?
    
    	What a comic! What a wiseguy! Har har ha hee hee...

    Some more Murphy:
    
    1)  The wind always blows in whatever direction is opposite to the
        direction of the cyclist's travel.
    
    2)  The wind will increase speed in direct proportion from your
        distance from home and how tired you are.
    
    3)  Regardless of temperature and other riding conditions, the
        warmest thing within your reach will be your water bottle.
    
    4)  A red traffic light will only turn green after you have 
        loosened your toe strap or stepped out of your clipless
        pedal.
    
    5)  The quality of your ride is directly proportional to the
        width of the ring left in the tub after you shower.
    
    6)  Whenever riding through a park with a population of ducks,
        there will be someone throwing bread in your path.
    
    7)  For every thorn resistant tube there are two all-powerful
        thorn bushes alongside the road you're riding on.
    
    8)  The urge to urinate increases in direct proportion to the
        absence of available concealment.
    
    I'll add 'em as I get 'em.
    
    Chip

    From usenet:

    I know a friend who has a murry frame with huffy components....
    He calls it a hurry. Bob calls it a muffy.

    From 'Freewheelin' reprinted w/o permission
    
     A two-headed man Bill and William Debonnet was found dead in his home
    in Bogota, Columbia. Bill and William had made world-wide news when
    born to Bonita and Barry Debonnet in 1947. The two heads had coexisted
    quite well for 41 years but suddenly thew beat each other to death
    following an argument.
     Bonita DeBonnet was quoted as saying, "The two heads were doing just
    fine until they started cycling. Bill wanted to wear a helmet while
    William thought it looked foolish. They had always agreed on eyerything
    from choice of ties to the color of their socks. They tried riding with
    one helmet for a while but when people would stop,point and laugh,
    William was certain they were laughing at the helmet. Finally it came
    to a head,so to speak,when William started wearing a bag over his head
    so friends wouldn't recognize him. Bill just couldn't take the bag
    routine and ripped it from William's head before a ride and this
    started a brawl. I don't think having a single water bottle helped
    matters much either."
    
     Mrs. DeBonnet has made a plea to all mothers with two-headed children
    not to let them start cycling.

    Maybe it's my mood today, but I find this hysterically funny right now.

    I just received this in the mail.
    
I hope you've seen the t-shirts: WHY A BEER IS BETTER THAN A WOMAN
and WHY CHOCOLATE IS BETTER THAN A MAN, well, here is yet another
version:


		WHY BICYCLES ARE BETTER THAN WOMEN
 
 
1. Bicycles don't get pregnant.
2. You can ride your Bicycle any time of the month.
3. Bicycles don't have parents.
4. Bicycles don't whine unless something is really wrong.
5. You can share your Bicycle with your friends.
6. Bicycles don't care how many other Bicycles you've ridden.
7. When riding, you and your Bicycle can arrive at the same time.
8. Bicycles don't care how many other Bicycles you have.
9. Bicycles don't care if you look at other Bicycles.
10. Bicycles don't care if you buy Bicycle magazines.
11. You'll never hear, "Surprise, you are going to own a new Bicycle"
    unless you go out to buy one yourself.
12. If your Bicycle goes flat you can fix it.
13. If your Bicycle is too loose you can tighten it.
14. If your Bicycle is misaligned, you don't have to discuss politics with it.
15. You can have a black Bicycle and bring it home to your parents.
16. You don't have to be jealous of the guy who works on your Bicycle.
17. If you say bad things to your Bicycle, you don't have to apologize before
    you ride it again.
18. You can ride your Bicycle as long as you want and it won't get sore.
19. You can stop riding your Bicycle as soon as you want and it won't get
    frustrated.
20. Your parents won't remain in touch with your old bicycle after you dump 
    it.
21. Bicycles don't get headaches.
22. Bicycles don't insult you if you're a bad rider.
23. Your Bicycle never wants a night out with the other Bicycles.
24. Bicycles don't care if you're late.
25. You don't have to take a shower before you ride your bicycle.
26. If your Bicycle doesn't look good you can paint it or get better parts.
27. You can ride your Bicycle the first time you meet it, without having to
    take it to dinner, see a movie, or meet its mother.
28. The only protection you have to wear when riding your Bicycle is a
    decent helmet.
29. When in mixed company, you can talk about what a great ride you had
    the last time you were on your Bicycle.
 
 
    

    So, where's the version of "Why Bicycles Are Better Than a MAN"? 
    
    	-N

    'So, where's the version of "Why Bicycles Are Better Than a MAN"? '
    
    Waiting for a composer?  I'm sure there must be one.
    
    ed

RE: .10

    They aren't, and nobody writes fiction in this group, so you won't
    see it here.  :-)

    Ok, I'll be humble (me, nahh) enough to offer alternative suggestions:
    
    A Bicycle doesn't throw a tantrum if you have a headache.
    A Bicycle doesn't expect you to do the dishes.
    
    ed

    Of course, I got those ideas from listening to my neighbors.  The condo
    has thinner walls than I thought.
    
    :-)
    
    ed

    RE .9 
    
    Lots of good ones on that list!  Great stuff  for a Friday.  Now, how
    about posting why a beer is better than a woman?
    
    Dave

    You ARE the Dave Wester that co-oped in CXO about 6 years ago, right?
    Glad to see that you're still in DEC.
    
    
    Back to the topic; One was funny, but a series of them might belong in 
    the "Devaluing Differences" conference.  Think about it.
    
    					John

    	Nancy,
    		All I've seen is the T-shirt that has on it:
    
    	"A Woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."
    
    	And, since a bicycle is mentioned, it's kinda appropriate here.
    		- Chris

    Excerpts from an interview with the sit-down comedian of the 7-Eleven
    team: Bob Roll, with his buddy and teammate, Sean Yates of Britain.
    Written by Art Read and swiped from California Bicyclist.
    
    Sean: You doin' an interview?
    Art:  Yeah, I do a humor, etcetera column.
    Sean: That's why you're interviewing Bob? (laughter) So you'll have
          more material?
    Bob:  Most likely candidate to crack a joke.  Yeah, we have fun in the
          peloton.
    Art:  You remember any of it?
    Bob:  Yeah, like just going up to Francesco Moser, the first time we
          did the Giro; I say, "Hey Frank, how's it goin'?  You look har
          rible today!  Your socks don't match, your hair's turning grey;
          I think it's time to quit."  Or Bernard Hinault, I would do the 
          same thing to him.  So, everyone around me is like, "You can't
          say that!"....."this guy's God! After all!"
    Sean: They're not used to that kind of attitude, are they?
    Bob:  No.  They like the status quo- right down the line, and I don't
          really care for that.  I mean it has its place, but not all the
          time!
    Art:  Sure. Not forever.
    Bob:  And I tell you, the guys that never talk to anybody else will say
          hello to me all the time, like, Fignon ... "Hey, Bob! How's it
          goin'?" ...and I've never heard him say that to anybody else. 
          And I'm like, "Yeah, Larry, alright!  Let me get that ponytail
          for you!"  (Makes snipping-scissors fingers at an imaginary
          Fignon.)  After the Tour I went past him in the peloton, and I
          said, "Hey, Larry!" (makes a tucked, aero-bar position in the air
          with his arms, and a big grin on his face, looking over.) "How
          are ya!"  And he like, (in groaning voice) "Oh, Bob, I'm gonna
          keell ya."  Stuff like that, you know. 
    
    Don

    Two (male) bikers were cruising down a country road when they encountered
    a pig entangled in a barbwire fence.  The pig was stuck in so that its
    rear end was facing the road with its legs stuck straight up in the air.
    
    One biker says to the other: "I wish that was Raquel Welch stuck in
    that fence with her legs stuck up in the air like that!"
 
    The other one says: "I wish that was Sophia Loren stuck in that fence
    with her legs stuck up in the air like that!"
    
    A few moments pass...
      
    and both bikers say: "I wish it was dark!"

    

    I just read an article in California Cyclist about stories from century
    SAG wagon drivers.  The one that I liked best was about a guy who was
    tiring and so he asks the SAG driver "how long is this ride?".  The
    driver replies (with a bit of sarcasm I'm sure) that a century is
    usually 100 miles.  The poor guy just says "Nobody ever told me that".

    	This is for real folks, not a joke. Even it though it sure does
    	read like one.
    
	The Boston Globe
	Wednesday, 18-Sep-1991
	Ann Landers

	Dear Ann Landers,

	   Someone very dear to us is married to a man who refuses to grow
	up. He is old enough to be president of a company but the most
	important thing in his life is not his wife, his children, or his
	job. It is his bicycle.

	   Seven years ago, this couple moved to a warm climate so that
	"Mr. Bicycle" could train year-round. While there he had three
	bike wrecks that resulted in a broken collarbone, a fractured knee
	and many cracked ribs. Because of his injuries, he hasn't worked
	for two years and has landed in bankruptcy court.

	   They are now living with our friend's parents.

	   Although "Mrs. Bicycle" is working two jobs, their income is
	still low enough so that they are eligible for food stamps.
	Mr. Bicycle is still not employed, which isn't surprising because
	he has never been enthusiastic about working. He quit a good job
	last year after four days because he said it didn't pay enough.
	The real reason is that the job cut into his six-hour-a-day
	training schedule.

	   This man is no idiot. He has a college degree and other profess-
	ional certifications. It seems that he lacks the great american
	work ethic and there is always someone around to rescue him, mainly
	his wife.

	   So Ann, got any good ideas to help change this situation?

	Mrs. Bicycle may listen to you even if her husband won't.

						DISGUSTED & DUMBFOUNDED

	Reply:
	Mrs. Bicycle should look in the dictionary for the word "enabler".
	That's HER. She should then get some counseling and decide whether
	or not she wants to spend the rest of her life like this (maybe
	she does). The decision should be hers, so stay out of it.

     The guy is probably an idiot, but I DO admire him for sticking
    to priorities :-)
    
       Chip

    
    
      Chip,
    
      I think that if that comment had come from anybody else I would have
    been a little perturbed.  But since it came from you I'm almost rolling
    on the floor right now.
    
       Gotta love it!  :-)
    
       John C.
    
    

    His priorities are a little bit messed up.  Five hours a day and
    weekends ought to be enough.
    
    ed

    I heard this one recently.  A rider was riding with a group
    who were differently oriented (gay).  When coming to an intersection
    he inquired, "Do we go straight here?"
    
    The reply was, "No.  FORWARD!"
    
    :-)
    
    ed

	Male bicyclist after a particularly bad stretch of pavement:

		"Now I know why Rocky Road ice cream is 
		made with crushed nuts"

    
    
    Re.27
    
    	Ouch! Watery eyes time...
    

I just completed part of a 100 mile ride called the "Border Surf & Citrus 100" 
on South Padre Island, Texas. This is a beautiful place with white sand beaches 
on the Gulf of Mexico. There was plenty of sunshine, blue water, and bikini 
clad Canadians on spring break. This was a fun ride for me and my Kansas 
friends, and they recommend it highly to everyone. Unfortunately for me, it 
may have caused a serious rust problem on my new Eddy Merckx bike. I had just 
received the Eddy MXmodel, with the Columbus steel MAX tubing. My friend at 
Bike-N-Bobs in Dover, had special ordered it, direct from Mr. Merckx's shop 
overseas and had given me 10% off the $2600 price. This century ride was to 
be the "Baptism" of my new bike, and in a way it was.

I had been riding in a pack with several local Texans and doing real well, for 
someone who hadn't ridden all winter. My rusting problem started, when the 
pack and I began to cross the 4 mile long Causeway bridge. It was about the 
75 mile mark, when I crested the top of the bay bridge, and was going down it 
at a little over 30 mph, when I suddenly developed a strange craving for the 
free chocolate Power Bar that the tour organizers had put in my registration 
packet. Strange, because I'd rather eat my spare tube with green slime in it, 
than an over aged chocolate Power Bar. Apple Cinnamon Bars are quite good, but 
for some reason when I opened my packet, I got chocolate, while the other 750 
riders got yummy Apple Cinnamon. Fate huh? 

I reached around and got the ancient bar out of the rear pocket of my Team 
WheelSucker jersey and struggled to unwrap it. As I pulled and tugged on the 
"Child and Idiot Proof" wrapper, I began to wobble just a little too near the 
guard rail. By sticking an unopened end of the bar in my mouth and ripping the 
other end with my free hand, I managed to free the wrapper from the death grip 
it had on the chocolate bar and exposed about all of the Power Bar. Suddenly 
out of nowhere came about 113 starving, swooping, squawking Brown Speckled 
Long Billed Pelicans. After the first one dove straight in at the Power Bar, 
and nipped off about an inch, the feeding frenzy was on! 

With both hands clutched on my handle bars to keep the bike upright and a 
chocolate power bar sticking out of my mouth, I descended the steepest section 
of the bridge at 45 mph while Pelicans dive bombed me from all angles. Each 
God Damn bird would fly in for a peck on the Power Bar and with each bite, 
they would drive me closer and closer to the edge of the bridge. When a 
swooping bird would miss the Power Bar, they would drop a white foul smelling 
"surprise" somewhere on me or my bike. It was really unpleasant when this 
"surprise" was deposited on my front tire. With each wheel revolution the moist 
Pelican Doo Doo would be flipped directly up into my face over and over again. 
Soon my Oakley's were splattered with so much Doo-Doo that I was having a hard 
time seeing the pack of riders I was wheelsucking off of. 

Never letting up for a second, the bastard birds dive bombed me continually, 
till finally a big old brown male missed the power bar and stuck his 3 foot 
bill into the Styrofoam core of my Bell Helmet. With this bird now sticking 
straight out of the side of my head, wings flapping madly and more white ooze 
being deposited directly on my neck and shoulders, I rode wildly back and 
forth across both lanes on the causeway bridge. I did my best to avoid the 
large truck full of Texas ripened grapefruit, but when it swerved to miss me 
and rolled over on it's side, spilling 150,000 grapefruit at the top of the 
bridge, I and several other riders had to really hammer to stay in front of 
this rushing wall of yellow grapefruit. 

I saw one poor women on a purple Trek 2300, get over taken and swallowed by 
the oncoming wall of fruit. For awhile she was upright and riding on top of 
rolling grapefruit, but then lost her balance and went down in an avalanche of 
fruit. Several of the larger "Texas Ruby Reds" hit her in the head and knocked 
her unconscious, before she was completely covered. The other riders and I 
formed a pace line to try and out run the fruit. I, of course, was at my usual 
spot at the rear and soon found myself being dropped by the pack. When I lost 
the advantage of their draft, the fruit began to overtake me! 

Surrounded by a wall of grapefruit and with a pelican stuck in the side of 
my head, I felt myself ride up on 30 or 40 yellow balls and maintain my balance 
for about 200 feet. It was a lot like riding rollers and my cadence increased 
to about 160 rpms. With my cranks spinning wildly, I came off the front wave 
of grapefruit and onto dry pavement. Unfortunately for me I had been turned
sideways, trying to stay upright, and was now pointed directly at the guard 
rail. The damn Pelican was still screaming and squawking as we rode over the 
guard rail together and plunged into the shallow waters of the Laguna Madre. 
During the 150 foot free fall, we managed to do a couple of front flips with a 
half twist. The stupid bird didn't shut up till I smacked the water face first, 
with a perfect belly flop.

I don't know how long we floated in the water together. We were both still a 
little dazed when the Wildlife Ranger pulled up along side and freed the bird. 
As he hand cuffed me to the rail of the Coast Guard ship, he read, out loud to 
me, each and every Federal statue and regulation, on feeding, trapping and 
capturing an endangered species.

As the ship sped toward the Federal Incarceration Unit at Brownsville, I 
caught a glimpse of my bike. It was still upright, the Campy Aero wheels stuck \
in two feet of muddy saltwater, and perched on my Flite titanium saddle, was a 
grinning brown pelican, sunning himself.

As I sit here writing this, with lots of time to kill, I wonder, how long 
Columbus MAX steel tubing will last, exposed to saltwater, before rusting 
completely through? I hope it will last at least six months. That's the 
sentence I'm currently serving in the Alcatraz of the Southwest.

                Don TRUE
                Federal Penitentiary
                Solitary Confinement
                Brownsville Texas