Get out of my bloody way!

Well, I was on my way to laundromat, shopping cart in tow, and I encountered a pair of women with strollers. They were spread two wide, effectively blocking the entire sidewalk. This would have been all good, except that as I approached, neither of them moved. Is it not custom in Canada to be kind to strangers and make room for them on the sidewalk? Is it not taught by most parents to be nice and have one person slow down and walk behind for a minute to avoid making the oncoming person walk on the grass or squash themselves into a bush trying to get by? Evidently that was one message that is not taught by parents here in Campbell River.

Not only did these stroller moms not move, but I do believe they actually walked wider apart. And it's not like they didn't see me coming. I, like them, had a cart on wheels. And my cart tends to rattle along on the sidewalk. So if they didn't see me coming, they at least would have heard me. But nooooo. They didn't move an inch. And I was forced to lug my cart full of dirty laundry onto the grass and around a telephone pole because of this rudeness. Sufficed to say, my little cart is not made for off-roading, and pulling it through the grass is rather difficult.

And this is not the first occurrance of this behaviour here in my rainy paradise. Often, while riding my bike along the sidewalk, I am forced to either stop or ride out onto the road to get around a pedestrian. While I would prefer to ride on the road all the time, this isn't exactly feasible, as the drivers here are even less considerate than the pedestrians. So I ring my bell, and they look up and see me coming. But do they get out of the way, or even move to one side so I can get by? Noooooo! They continue on their merry way, right in the middle of the damn sidewalk!

So I will issue this warning to the pedestrians and stoller pushers of my fair city. Get out of my bloody way! And if you don't, the next time I see you, you will either be clotheslined by an angry biker or recieve a nice elbow to the face from the crazy lady with the shopping cart. So don't tempt me, I'll do it.

On a lighter note, you will all be happy to note that this week's excursion to the laundromat was wonderfully free of little old men wanting to discuss same-sex marriage.

Just a note to whomever it was that sent me a comment about how cyclists are actually supposed to ride on the road and should in no way expect pedestrians to jump out of the way when they see a cyclist or hear a bell from behind them. I do not expect a pedestrian to jump out of the way when they see or hear me coming on my bike. What I would appreciate is a little common courtesy when they do know I'm there. Not unlike the stroller moms, some pedestrians tend to take up the entire sidewalk. By all means, do that if you want to. But when you see or hear me, moving to one side of that chunk of cement so I can easily pass is a courteous thing to do. The same is true for when I am also a pedestrian. I've noticed that in the city where I live, if I'm passing two people in the opposite direction, despite that fact that they've seen me (and I know they've seen me because we've made eye contact), often they do not move over so I can pass, thus forcing me out onto the road to get around them. Again it's a courtesy thing. Moving a little to the left or right wouldn't necessarily cost you anything, but it makes life a little easier for someone you don't know.

So back to the bikes. Yes, cyclists should ride on the road and not on the sidewalk. But you, reader, failed to mention your own whereabouts. The city where I live is hilly. And not little hills, big ones. And I'm not Lance Armstrong. I do not excel in the mountainous portion of the course. On the side streets, where the curb lane is mostly reserved for parked cars, I stay off the sidewalk and ride on the road. But on busy roads when I'm going up a hill (which is often), if I stay on the road, the cars coming from behind me like to honk, follow too close, cut around me with only inches to spare (sometimes not even that as I have been clipped by a few side view mirrors), or even roll down their windows and swear, make threats and tell me to get on the sidewalk because I'm going too slow. So am I to stop and try to explain to them that I should really be riding on the road instead of the sidewalk despite the fact that often the sidewalk is empty? Oh, I'm sure they'd enjoy that, what with all the road rage occurrences nowadays.

When I am on my bike, I do not expect a pedestrian to move out of the way if I am on the sidewalk. But that doesn't mean that I wouldn't appreciate if they did. That's the point I'm trying to make with this entire entry. No, the stroller moms and other pedestrians do not have to move to one side if the sidewalk when there is someone coming from behind or in front of them. There's no law that says they have to move. And I'm certainly not going to say anything to them as we pass. It might irritate me for a while, maybe even enough to, I don't know, write a blog about it, but I'm not so seething with rage that I'm going to lose it and beat some 15 year old to a pulp because him and his girlfriend didn't clear the sidewalk when I rang my bell. But common courtesy taught to me by every adult I ever knew was that if you see or hear someone coming, move over so they can get by. You don't have to, but it's being nice to the other person. That's my whole point. Why isn't anybody nice to anybody else anymore? Even if they are a complete stranger?

Why I should Rule the World.

I have decided I should rule the world. If I were in charge, everyone would get paid what they're worth, or not worth, in some cases. Don't you hate those people who do way less than you at the same job, but get paid the same, or even more than you and you have to bust your butt to do what you do? That would not happen in my world. If you do less work than me, you will get paid less. That is how it will work. And if you don't work, you will only be paid if you have a pretty damn good reason for not having a job. Welfare would change if I were in charge of the world.

The opening ceremonies of the olympics would change if I ruled the world. There would be no spandex, no interpretive dancing, and far fewer of those plays where everything is a symbol of something else. If you want to say somethig, just say it. Don't pansy around it by putting on a play. And lets face it, the spandex really does have to go. It frightens small children, and most adults. Spandex were not meant to be worn. I still have no idea why they were invented. So if I ruled the world, I would outlaw spandex.

I would also be far better at ice climbing if I ruled the world. And rock climbing. And all those girls I hated in high school would be fat now. But I think that's everyone's fantasy. Admit it, you've thought about it. And I could eat everything I want and not gain weight as long as I ran every day. This would include pie, chocolate, and all manner of cakes and cookies. And there would always be money for vacations and trips.

Yes, I believe the world would be a better place if I put myself in charge.

Showers are great.

I love showers. I really do. They make you clean, they make you feel better. I'm glad I am able to have a shower every day. Especially when I'm cold from my jog, I can jump in the shower and get warm. Getting out of the shower is often difficult. It's cold outside my little ceramic tile/plastic shower curtain cocoon. You get to wash your hair in the shower, too. Which often brings fun smells like the lavender shampoo and conditioner I have right now. It stinks pretty, as my grandpa would say.

Showers are even better after a few days of hiking with no showers. Then you feel really clean. Putz and Slacker can relate to this quite well. Showers are also the time that many of the women-folk like to shave. So you get prettier in the shower, too. That is, if your idea of pretty includes hairless armpits. I learned something new today. The medical term for armpit is axilla. I thought it was just an armpit. But it's not. It's also an axilla. Now you've learned something too. Unless you already knew that. In which case, man you have too much time on your hands, you freak.

That's all for today. Until next time.

Crazy old men in laundromats...

So I have decided that this is a good place to rant about thing that annoy, amuse, or otherwise tickle my fancy in my rather boring, but sometimes interesting, everday life. So now beginneth the ranting.

So I was at the laundromat today, minding my own business watching my pink underwear swirl around the glass in the dryer, yet again. The was this little old man sitting in a chair near me and he had that shifty look about him, like he wanted to talk but was unsure of how to interrupt me while I was writing my letter (as I am known to do while at the laudromat). So I tried desperatly not to make eye contact with said little old man, so as to avoid awkward conversations I didn't want to have with strangers. But to no avail. He didn't take the hint, and started talking to me anyway.

He wanted to know my opinion on same sex marriage. I claimed to have no opinion, in a feeble attempt to deter him from further interrupting my letter writing, but again he didn't take the hint. He said it was wrong. He had been married and raised 3 kids and thought that was the purpose of a marraige and what two men have is not a marriage and why do they have to call it that. I will put emphasis on the word HAD because he wasn't wearing a ring. Why me, you ask? I have no idea. Perhaps he sensed the redneck Albertan in me, and believed that I, like King Ralph and himself, was against same-sex marriage.

But I feigned interest in what he was saying so he'd stop talking ot me and I could finish my letter. And because I felt it would be rather cruel to rip a strip off a little old man in a laundromat by poking holes in his inane theory, and telling him all the reasons I believed that same-sex marraige is okay, and maybe even a good idea. He left me alone eventually. But I don't think I'll just let that one slip by me next time. So to all the future little old men in laundromats that want to have politcal/religious/philosphical/family value descussions with me when I'm trying to write a letter to my mom while my pink underwear swirls endlessly around the glass at the front of the dryer, you have been warned.