Bill, my old photography-partner/recluse-artist, sends along evidence of his safety and kitchen’s intact condition, reporting that a 4am earthquake only resulted in the scattering of his collection of Folger coffee cans.
Day: July 11, 2018
rDay Twelve-Hundred-Four
Whereupon I meet Bob and his SteinTrike …
On my walk to my downtown workspace today, I chance upon the three-wheeler cruising up our street. Stopping to talk for a minute — that turned into one hour — I learn that this 82-year-old pedals a good ten miles a day around town, favoring the Prospect/Taumarson loop around the south part of town and past WalMart and Verizon and on to Andy’s, for its smooth surfaces.
Turns out that he took this up because his doctor tells him not to drive, but he was always a mountain biker on two wheels before now. He recounted a few near misses in traffic, but his most dismaying incident on the streets was when a lifted diesel Dodge pickup jumped in front of him into the bike lane, stopped, then spewed clouds of black smoke over him, then squealed away. (See “coal rolling“, referring to the sociopathic so-called “sport” that seems to have taken hold with a certain segment of society in the past couple of years or so.) Bob turns out to be a two-block-distant neighbor (and also has a classic MG Midget stored in his garage). Almost every time we go shopping or driving about town, we see Bob, fearlessly pedalling along.
