Author: lief

Some kinda record

I have never received a speeding ticket, and only one (questionable but not worth the effort) parking ticket in the 20 years that I have been driving (crikey! 20 years!). Now, since September, I think I have set some sort of record for the number of traffic infractions attributed to one person without actually being behind the wheel. The extenuating circumstances bear noting.

Late September: I dropped off my old car, Petey, at a dealership for the beginning of a stare-down which resulted in the selling of Petey and the purchase of Sienna. After the drop-off I rode my mountain bike to the office. The combination of unfamiliar routes, the hurry of tardiness, the unfamiliar riding position (all my weight on my hands – which meant no hand signal), and a small dose of serendipity caused my path to divert down Battery right past an SPD motorcycle, officer, and mustache. I was nabbed and grudgingly accepted a fine for operating a vehicle in the wrong direction on a one-way street.

Late December: I received a call at work from my better half –

What does it mean if I just saw the lights flash on that new speed enforcement area outside the school? [both rhetorical and hopeful at the same time]

It means you were exceeding the speed limit and probably got a ticket. What were you driving?

The van.
The one that is only in my name?
Yep.
So I got the ticket. (it wasn’t a question)
Yep.
Ack!

It never came in the mail and it must have been one of those configuration errors everyone was talking about. Then…

Late January another call –

This time I know I got it.
Got what.
The lights flashed at me again and I am pretty sure I was going about 28.(spot on by the way, proves that the speedometer works.)
Stop that!…What were you driving?
The Camry.
Well at least it isn’t just me then. [smile]

Famous last words. As it turns out, when there are more than one registered owner only the first one on the list gets credit in computerized-traffic-court. Or maybe they have a newfangled device that assesses gender on the names of the registration and just assumes? Either way I am the winner of a new piece of mail with a nice little picture of OUR car frozen in time in front of the school. Doesn’t look very menacing in a still photograph.

Then, late tonight, another piece of mail (I am now able to recognize the stationary). This time it is from Tacoma? When the heck was she in Tacoma? Sensing a mystery I open the mail to see that good ‘ol Petey was likewise frozen in time, speeding in front of a school and somehow, after nearly 5 months, I still managed to get the credit.* Must be some kinda record.

One postscript to this whole affair; none of these infractions are considered “traffic” or moving violations. The one on the bike probably should have been but I think the outsized motorcycle mustache whispered sweet nothings into his ear and he took pity on my wittow gween bike. The other two, since they are photographs taken by machine and probably through some strange deal cut with the ACLU, do not count as moving violations. So none of them appear on my “driving” record. Good thing too, since none of them actually involved any driving (on my part).

* Never fear dear reader, this last one will NOT be paid by me. Computerized-traffic-court has a wittow mustache too that lets me send in proof of transfer of sale. I am sure the “buck” will get passed down the line to stop at the appropriate “here” – probably some guy on a bike. Now I wonder if the second buck, the one for the van, is being passed down the…oooh now that would really suck.

Incidentally, it would break my record…currently at three.

Spread the love

Sitting down to a dinner of flax and wheatberry pancakes I grabbed one of my favorite pancake dressings and Abby innocently queried

Why do you put peanut butter on everything you eat?

I haw haw’ed a little bit and related a fraction of a much relayed story regarding Lemon Meringue Pie. I told the truth, as I know it, but there is no reason to belabor the point as it just get’s one into trouble.

Despite being a staple in my diet for years (and one of the best foods on the planet) peanut butter happens to be a great source of protein which in turn happens to be a great way to help keep my triglycerides low.
I know someone who would be overjoyed, as I am, to have been literally prescribed peanut butter by his doctor.

Words keep on rollin

Emma with toy earrings:

Look, Dayee! My ears are pursed.

Emma and I learning how to count:

Emma, how many fingers do I have up [ .lll, ]?
One, Two, Free-four!
OK, good!

Dayee, how do I have much fingers [also with three]?
[repeating the turn of phrase to cement it in my brain I say] How do I have much fingers?
[correcting me] No…I!

Decisions Decisions

I made the decision to buy a recumbent.
I made the decision to commute by bike.
I made the decision to use a field-of-vision limiting fairing.
I made the decision to NOT buy a bus pass this January.
and
I made the decision to go straight on Rainier this morning.

That’s the teaser.

Approaching a hill this morning I saw a new, manhole-sized, brick lined, pothole. We are talkin’ deep, 1911, Denny-Renton bricks. With cars approaching (from behind) on the western hemisphere of this abyss I chose the eastern hemisphere. I saw the driveway entrance to the sidewalk and committed.

I missed the eastern hemisphere of the entrance to Wonderland and found myself nose-to-nose (or rather, wheel-to-curb) with a stealth curb. It was hunkered, a mere 2-3 inches above ground level, in a clever burm of sand that smoothed it’s cliff like appearance not unlike a VW bug in 25 inches of snow.

That’s the decision I had to live with now and at about 10 mph my small, front wheel approached that stealthy little curblet at a VERY acute angle. Then that part of my body closest to the ground, for the second time in just over 12 hours, kissed the pavement. I think my right cheek was jealous of my left cheek; this time I had momentum.

A skilled forensics team may yet determine the speed at which impact occurred by measuring the scratches, accounting of course for a thin layer of spandex which remains (thankfully) untorn.

I would say my ego was further damaged, because I always say matter of factly

I don’t fall.

but it really isn’t; I am still gonna be Spider-Man someday.

Another record, a boastful streak, and a bruised ego.

So today I rode all the way to work and back (as I have been doing since my train pass ran out on Dec 31) in record time and record average speed. I took the flat route in to downtown along Marginal and 1st in a moderate 57 minutes. On my return I chose not to cross 2 lanes of oncoming traffic and tried a different return route, Rainier.

Rainier has one major rise but I was still able to maintain mid teens nearly all the way up. Once I got to a known checkpoint I could tell I was about 10 minutes faster than my normal route along the lake.
So, long story to say that my full 31 mile round trip came to 2 hours and 1 minute and an average of 15.3 mph; a new record.

Along that route I also broke a streak of which I have recently boasted: consecutive days, without falling, since I began using my clip-less pedals DUE to the fact that I couldn’t unclip.

Yes there was that time near the Arboretum; but that was slickery mud and a cliff-like road shoulder and didn’t have anything to do with my pedals. Tonight was different; I stalled on a wheelchair ramp to the road-island on the NW corner of Rainier and Airport and did a somewhat slow, and definite kerploppety, sit-fall onto the meaty part of my left gluteus. My mistake was speed, attention, and pulling when I should have twisted.

The only thing that wasn’t broken tonight was my ego, pretty healthy that one. Well that and all the bones in my body and all (known) parts of my bike.

UPDATE in the form of a question:
Why do *they* call them wheelchair ramps anyway? I bet there are perhaps 10,000 bikes and strollers using that particular ramp for every wheelchair or other wheelchair-like device. That would make for an interesting study.

You put your weed in there

Today Emma was eating an apple. It isn’t uncommon to find partially eaten items all over the house; you think they were completely eaten because they disappeared but actually they were squirrelled away on a bookshelf or into a jewelry box.

Today however Emma decided the apple was good but when she got to the absolute middle she threw the last bite down and said,

Mommy, can we get a new apple; one with not weeds in it?

Footstool

As noted in recent comments, the item which was recently broken is a footstool.

And as I am usually comment silent (I have my say in the main piece and with the rest; come what may.) I am inclined to break my silence this time in the form of another post. Careful though, I am not defending myself, I learned long ago to break – fix – and move on.

This is just for fun.

This item and it’s common usage is for assistance in gaining the proper elevation into our vertically inflated sleeping platform for the older mermaid, so it is commonly and adequately used as a stepstool.

I have often, based on the heft of the decorated legs, judged it a worthy opponent to my downward force largely due to it’s history of violent opposition to my peace-loving pinky toe.

That said, stepstool, footstool, ladder, end-table, vault?…What does one thing have to do with another? It will be fixed, and this time it will be over-engineered (as so many things in my house are) with 3/4 inch plywood in order to become all of these things.

Then I will move on.