Orange days and heavy horses

October 26, 2011

It is an orange time. Orange things have proliferated prolifically. But for every orange, there must be a green (preferably with some peaceful white between the two). Hence the Irish flag. Besides an abundance of pumpkinful foodstuffs,

leaves and witches with orange hats entombed in concrete

 I have noticed that the greeny things are still about if one looks closely enough. One green event I saw advertised in "The Reader" was a gin and jazz costumed soiree, entitled "The Green Fairy," featuring an absinthe bar, at the House of Loom. This event apparently occurred on October 22. If this is all green could muster this time of year, then it is clear that orange is in ascendance. The green fairy is flitting about beneath the radar, but orange is out on parade. Here is one other green representative that is clearly living in the margins of society.

This may not be some "legitimate" "mural" like I hear they got uptown on the Keystone Trail, but it's all we got out here by the Poet's Perch. And as a wise man once said, "That'll do, pig, that'll do."

As a purveyor of the benefits of balance, I often strive to attain some. I like to feel as if I did something healthy before I reward myself with some unhealthy behavior. This kind of mindset could also be termed "rationalizing." The upcoming "Beer and Bagel Run" is a good example of this situation. Get up on a Sunday morning and run for awhile, then kick back with a beer and a bagel. Good, satisfying living, dammit! In this case, I'm pretty sure the beer's the healthy part, since running is generally perceived as a dangerous, unhealthy activity to my relatively sedentary body.

Speaking of dangerous, it often seems to me that most things that are "dangerous" are fun.  As I was riding home I overheard a son tell her mom something like, "Look, he's riding in the street!"  Her response was, "blah, blah, blah.... It just scares me."  Well, it scares me too, sometimes, but it's fun dammit!  Nothing risked, nothing gained.  Perhaps as dangerous, but less-obviously so, are the soul-sucking compromises to living that allow us to safely make our uneventful way from cradle to grave.  I like to think of it as "risk management."  I do not wear urban camo and cycle lightlessly across busy intersections.  So tell your kid about the "facts of life on the road" (or just let him watch Lemmy Kilmister's Lemmy) buy him some safety gear and let him cycle about on the streets where he will be mocked mercilessly by his peers due to his orange helmet, safety vest, blinking lights and elevated orange flag.  Or better/worse yet, go cycling with him.  Either he'll stop cycling or else he'll be cycling as safely as possible.

I met a guy who had recently purchased a Salsa Mukluk. Here 'tis.

Last year I thought these types of contraptions were called "snow bikes." Now, however, I've been informed that they prefer to be called "fat bikes." This is very refreshing to me, since I've recently learned to limit my use of the word "fat" in "polite" (aka "fat") society. These types of bikes would also very likely support a fat person in a slow-moving, smooth-riding manner not unlike a palanquin. Our stout bicycling friends may glide majestically about, warmed by layers of blubber and royal purple, down jackets on their slow-moving imposing draft steeds. Here is a song called "Heavy Horses" that I feel may have actually been written about fatbikes.

So grab an orange scarf and a green pair of goggles and jump on that fat bike for some comfortable bicycling with impunity!