My civic obligation.
Nothing I'd rather be doing on a Friday as business finally starts climbing out of the "economic down turn", or in layman's terms the "crapper".
Get to the court house all bright eyed and bushy tailed at 8:15 AM. Going through the metal detectors I become "that guy" (I'm pretty sure Thom discussed the "that guy" principal at length, but I couldn't find the exact post so, you can sift through his blog yourself if you need a in-depth explanation). First try, I walk through and the alarm goes off. The screener asks if I have any change in my pockets, oops, yes I do. He gets pissed, glares at me and snarls "Well that's METAL"! Second try, errrnt. No go. I suggest it's the zipper on my coat. "No, ya wearing a belt?!" Why yes I am. "Well the buckle is METAL"!
Try #3, Errrrnt. "Ya wearing steel toed boots"? Well, I suppose I am. "AHH, Go over THERE"! I go over to the specail steel toe boot lane, where a white haired veteran of the judicial system is working. Try #4, Errrnt. The white haired guard calmly wave his hand held metal detector over my coat zipper and sends me through.
I was hoping once I got up there I'd have the opportunity to plead my case that I'm self employed and me being there means my business is closed, which is a financial hardship for my family. No dice, I should plan to be there until 5:00 PM.
I didn't plan on that. I have to wait until lunch with nothing to do as groups of jurors are called to be interviewed for trials. Nothing to do but listen to people sneeze, sniffle, cough and gurgle in their own phlegm. I'm never called, and at 12:30 PM I'm released for lunch until 2:00 PM.
Fortunately I live close enough to the court house to go home for lunch. I change my belt, empty my pockets and change my coat.
Get back to court promptly at 2:00 PM, and confidently stride through the detectors.
ERRRNT!
Oh yeah, the boots. Try #2, the guard working the machine doesn't send me to the special "steel toe boot lane"....ERRRRNT!. He wands me. The buzzer goes off as he waves his tool over my ass. "Ah, you got any metal in your pockets or any thing"?
Nope.
"Okay, you can go on through".
Must be my buns of steel.
Anyways, I get up there, again, sit around for another couple of hours (I was smart enough to bring a book this time), and released without ever being called to duty.
What does all this have to do with bikes?
Well, I now had to go to work on Saturday. The way I looked at it, I had two choices if I didn't want to be an inconsiderate douche bag (I'm an obnoxious prick, but I try not to be a complete douche bag whose own immediate pleasure outweighs the damage those actions might cause). I could ride my mtb early before work while the trails are still frozen, or I could ride my bike to work through the dusting to a couple of inches of wet snow while there were still flurries flying.
Seeing as Het Volk was in progress, I figured riding to work was the right thing to do.
About half way to work, I hear a horn that sounds like a locomotive's behind me. It's the snow plow. I pull into a side street so he can pass and use him as my symbiotic host. Not only is he clearing the shoulder of slush, but has to drive slow enough to allow me to draft him. Motor pacing the snow plow!
Get to work. Work. Head home.
For the first time this year I feel strong enough to not go the short way home. Get to add about 3 miles and 500' of climbing to the ride, which is nice.
So maybe I should be thankful for jury duty?
Oh, and coach Levi, I don't care if riding fixed isn't helping my pedal stroke, riding singlespeed on the road blows, so stick that in your supplements and smoke, drink or inject it.
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