I Hate Cars
Had to take my aging auto to the doctor this morning. Apparently, windshield wipers are important–even in drought ravaged Texas–and mine don’t work. Couple of other minor issues like a burned out taillight (which is a fucking sealed unit and can’t be serviced by the owner). Oh, and there is a recall notice on the stupid transmission fluid line. So for a low, low fee of $115, the technician will troubleshoot the wiper system in order to tell me it’s not the fuzes which I already checked.
I departed the dealer in my trusty escape pod. Some people would call it a Dahon folding bike. I was amazed at the observational powers of my service representative when he asked me ”is that your bike outside?” I suppressed a couple of snarky answers and he bid me farewell with a “will give you a call” and “be careful.” More self-discipline not to spout sarcastic retorts about my risk management skills.
I eagerly anticipate the up-sell call: ”sir, we noticed that your [insert expensive component name here] is worn and needs replacing.” No doubt the fourth engine mount or some such bank emptying doodad (the other three having already been replaced over the last year).
Observations On The Ride Home
- two bright blinky white lights, a bright white headlight, a dazzling red rear blinky and an eye searing orange rain jacket are not enough to be visible
- apparently, parents and students turning into Anderson High School are not required to use their turn signals
- Dahon bikes don’t have enough steel (or other magnetic materials) to trigger the signal detectors
- huge number of cars avoid the insanity of the Parmer/Mopac intersection by using Waters Park Road
- said cars are in a big hurry
- North Walnut Creek bike trail is still not done
- I need to re-read Dante. Curious to know if this is one of the levels of hell
Open The Pod Bay Doors, Hal
Arriving home. Oops, no garage door opener. That’s on my other bike. Sigh.