Join Date: Aug 2012
Location: Side of a mountain in New Hampshire
The most dangerous road in America
The Queens list was about twenty items. Except for my tool roll and emergency kit, the bags were empty so I took the red bike. After all it boasts siptyleben hectares of storage space, more than the sun itself.
A little before dusk thirty I got my blinker on to turn left into the lot from the side street next to King Sooper. No traffic to speak of but a Jeep waiting at the stop sign in the Sooper lot with his left blinker on. Couple more shoppers behind him waiting their turn.
Pop slows and does my standard eye to eye so I know he knows before I turn left in front of him. Yep. He knows. What I didn't know was he had zero cognitive association. As I start my turn he pulls out in front of me. No heroics. I was doing like 5. I stopped. I offered him the international sign for irate travelers and he stopped, stuck his head out the window and did a sheepish "I'm sorry" and returned to his boring life.
Onward. Silly Pop. There's an old wives tale that my old wife tells about lightning not striking in the same place twice. I got suckered on that one.
In front of the market entrance is a walkway with stop signs on either side so that King Sooper faithful can trek to Mecca through the roadway without getting smushed. I stopped. People crossed in front of me. Cars coming the other way stopped for same reason.
There was a Honmahuki dual purpose in my "regular" spot, that little triangle at the end of the diagonal spaces that is too small for cars but is just right for a motorcycle and five shopping carts, so I scouted a spot down the lane from where I sat waiting for the throngs to pass. I put on my blinker. The walkway cleared. The guy opposite me started forward and I waited for him to pass. As a little old gal with blue hair in a thirty years old Buick pulled forward to the stop sign I again looked for recognition in her eyes. As she stopped I turned left to head down the lane to the parking space, and she attempted to murder me. That time I probably would have lost it. Weak ankles and all but presence of mind overcame me and I hollered out "Hey lady, see me" which apparently worked as she pounded the binders, a tactic which had eluded her at the stop sign. I did not somehow grace her bumper with my lower fairing gratefully because Buick bumpers have an undisputed record of prevailing in Buick bumper/motorcycle contests for occupying the same space.
I pulled into the parking space and decided before I shut things down that I would check my blinkers. I went around front. Yep blink, blink.
Went around back. Same. No, not a mechanical fault. Maybe they really are out to get me.
I flipped open the bag with the kits in it to make sure they were compactly stacked before my shopping adventure continued and while I was bent over stacking the junk I heard a brake screech and looked up to see that a kid in a Toyota pickup had pulled into the space opposite the nose of the bike and, I'm guessing that since I was bent over he did not see the red bike or it's full windshield sticking up and when he turned into the vacant space across from it he did so thinking he was going to use the two spaces to get from one parking lane to the other to hasten his exit from the lot. I guess this because he stopped inches from slamming the red bike, threw it in reverse and while carefully avoiding my glare he got the hell out of Dodge.
New Hampshire man killed in tragic Colorado shopping accident. Film at 10. Not this time.
Then I did a 100 mile an hour ride home. Couldn't let the ice cream melt.
Once upon a time Pop was on high iron in a boilerhouse and a tack weld broke. I hung around clasping a 4" channel iron for about a half hour until they could get a crane to me. No injury except soiled britches. That night when I got home I climbed into the shower and fell breaking two ribs.
Anything can kill you, and probably will.
Cross Country Tour.
We can't help it
We just keep moving
It's been that way since long ago
Since the stone age chasing the great herds
We mostly go where we have to go
That was written by James McMurtry