I'm an optimist when I look at transportation: If it's faster than walking, it's good enough for me. Stopping never comes to mind.
I keep telling myself that I'm going to fix the brakes on my bike, but somehow the task always manages to slip my mind. Procrastination is slowly becoming a killer.
Every morning is the same pathetic routine. I groggily mount my blue and pink Roadmaster and pedal toward campus. I see a stop sign, and I squeeze the brake handle.
Nothing.
Suddenly it becomes clear that I have no way of stopping, no convenient uphill slope or quicksand to slow me down. I close my eyes and pray for the best.
I have my share of battle scars. My backside is sore from jumping curbs, my knees bruised from banging into lampposts, my calves shredded from grazing thorny bushes.
I'm still alive, but for how long? A runaway shopping cart can only roll so long before crashing into a pickup truck.
The problem is, I don't remember my brake problem until I'm actually straddling the speeding missile. One would think the most effective Post-it note is a Band-Aid. Not for me, apparently.
Sometimes it's exciting. I see myself as a scholastic daredevil putting my life on the line to get to my television and American society class five minutes earlier. But when I'm speeding down Gale Lemerand with certain pain in the form of a Nissan Maxima waiting for me at the approaching stop light, I have to make a choice: bumper or bushes?
I'm shocked no one has died. As I fly down the steep, crowded campus sidewalks, I've clipped a number of poor pedestrians. I'm long gone before I get a chance to apologize or explain my predicament. As a result, I've compiled an impressive list of hit-and-runs.
In the meantime, I try to take the less-crowded, roundabout routes to get to my classes. Riding through Turlington Plaza in the middle of the day could be Tiananmen Square all over again.
But I can't promise people won't get hurt.Think of this as a warning: If you see a tall, blonde dope with a panicked expression speeding in your direction on a blue and pink Roadmaster, get the hell out of the way.
It may be the smartest decision you make.
