Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This is me, in the back seat of Mike’s pickup, realizing my
bike is mangled somewhere on the highway. I’m in shock. The bike falling off
the bike rack is every cyclist's worst nightmare, but it never happens. Except to me, of course. Mike has pulled over.
Me: WE NEED TO
TURN AROUND AND FIND MY BIKE.
Mike: Where?
What?
Michelle: Omg.
Omg.
Me: TURN AROUND
ON THE HIGHWAY NOW.
Mike starts driving, slowly. Just then – and luckily we’re
already on the highway in Iowa and there are few other cars about – another
pickup pulls up alongside us and tells us what the deal is.
Nice people in pickup:
Your bike is dragging behind your truck!
Me: OMG OMG OMG.
We pull over and get out. The bike is indeed dragging behind
Mike’s truck. Somehow, fortuitously, after we strapped the bike on, I spied an
extra bungee chord and strapped my bike wheel to Mike’s bike’s wheel, and it’s
still holding. Right, the thick rubber straps somehow didn’t hold my bike on,
but the bungee did.
My bike is somewhat….mangled, but seemingly all in one
piece. We can’t do anything about it now, so we put it in the back of the truck
bed with the luggage, and drive on. I sit in back staring into space, in shock,
thinking, fuck my fucking life, because seriously, what the fuck.
* * * * * * *
Now, I should note that after Betsy dismissed my
leg/hip/back pain YET AGAIN, I did in fact see a chiropractor, because, why
not? I suspected a bulging or herniated disc problem, as that seemed like it
could be pushing against nerves and causing the leg pain. For the entire month
of June, I saw a lovely chiropractor in Silverton, and after a month, even he
admitted that it had done absolutely nothing. He referred me to an orthopedist,
at my request. Said orthopedist was also lovely, did an x-ray of my hip, which
also showed nothing. He referred me to a back specialist, who I didn’t have
time to see before leaving for Ragbrai.
* * * * * * *
I should also mention now the saga with Unhinged Homeless
Asshole, or UHA. In May I had hired upon referral from Sarah W. (who runs
Sheltering Services in Silverton) someone to clean out the washhouse. He then
revealed that he was living out of his van, and asked if he could temporarily
park his van on the fringes of my property; in a temporary fit of attempting to
model the ideals of a “compassionate Silverton,” I said yes, based on the fact
that Sarah recommended him, they had “known each other a long time,” would
“vouch for him,” etc. This was what’s known as a Bad Move. And before I left
for Ragbrai, I needed to talk to him to tell him to move on already, but he had
disappeared for several days.
So to recap: I’m in nowhere Iowa trying to figure out my
mangled bike, with little connectivity or cell phone reception, and there’s UHA
back home and my neighbor who I’ve hired again this year to water the garden.
For the bike, luckily at our charter we have My Bike Guy, ie a bike repair guy
who’s there all week. I leave him to look over the bike, and I head off to the
Expo to buy a new saddle. Mine has been shaved down with frightening precision
from being dragged along the highway, such that only about half of it is left.
I get a text.
Neighbor who lives
behind me: Are you home?
Me: Umm, no, I’m
in Iowa.
Neighbor: Half of
your tree fell into my yard.
Say….what? Which tree? Wtf?
The old apple tree in the back of my yard has fallen
backwards onto the fence, with part of it brushing against the neighbor’s shed.
No, there’s no storm, no wind. Yes, this is totally random. I start trying to
find someone who can deal with this. I get a text.
Garden Watering
Neighbor: UHA thought he was going back to jail, but he left his dog here.
And he put a lock on the washhouse so I can’t get to the tomato fertilizer. Oh,
and he told Emma to move so he could take a nap on the patio couch. And the
tree, he’s decided he’s going to “help” with it, and I keep telling him to NOT
TOUCH ANYTHING AT ALL.
What. The. Fuck.
I text UHA to tell him to get his shit and get off my
property. I find someone who’ll remove the tree. I limp to the Expo, find
Oh yes, dear one of readers. Oh. Yes.
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