2013 was the year I made peace with other bicyclists. I used to get bothered if someone passed me on my left as I waited at a stop sign. I used to get childishly annoyed if a faster bicyclist went in front of me. I'd get huffy if I saw a mother riding without a helmet. I didn't like people on electric bicycles. There was an entire litany of sins and annoyances that I would levy against the other bicyclists.
Then I decided to stop caring about the actions of other bicyclists. I reasoned that they were not a threat to me the way cars were a threat and I decided that their presence, even if it was an uneven one, ultimately made me safer.
At first I had to grit my teeth and fake it. I'd be pedaling through an intersection with the right of way and a bicyclist with no lights would cut across in front of me, out of nowhere, and startle me. I loathe being startled. But I didn't say anything, just clenched my jaw tight to keep the obscenities leashed.
And a funny thing happened. I progressed from pretending to not care to actually not caring and from there I progressed to wishing these other bicyclists well, to hoping they had a good and safe ride.
So it is a few weeks before Christmas and I am on my way home from work and it is quite dark. The road is a residential one and very bike friendly, both legs of it actually take you to different bicycle bridges. The road forks and I need to go left. Approaching me is a bicyclist who if she continues on towards me, has the right of way. To my left is a car waiting at a stop. Both of us bicyclists have the right of way over the car but I am watching the care carefully because I don't trust it to wait for us and I effectively have to cut in front of it to make my turn.
The bicyclist goes right. I make my left turn. The car guns it's engine with frustration at having to wait twelve seconds for two bicyclists (TWO. TWO.) and then peels away and a moment later I almost collide with a third bicycle. I am spooked because I pride myself on seeing everything around me and I have zero clue where this guy came from. Zero. I swerve around him and I say nothing and I feel no hostility, I'm just trying to get around and on my way and not have a collision.
The dark mystery bicyclist is now just behind me and he says in a self-deprecating way, "A light would probably have made that easier." I turn to look at him. He's a young guy in office like clothes on an ordinary bicycle. I say "Lights help, yes." And then. "I think I have an extra. Want one?"
He can't believe it. He's ridiculously happy. He tells me he had a light but someone stole it and he hadn't replaced it. I show him how the neoprene ones go on and off very easily. We turn the light on. It flashes a happy red. He thanks me profusely. He tells me that he was attending Stanford Medical school but is on leave to develop a drug that he thinks will halt the progression of a rare disease. I tell him, gently, that this is all the more reason to have lights on his bicycle. He agrees and we ride together for awhile and he thanks me so often it gets embarrassing.
If you have not already, turn and make peace with the bicyclists around you. They are the ones with whom you truly share the road. The forces lined up against us are too strong for us to be able to tolerate being divided. We belong together.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Monday, November 18, 2013
my suffer face
In the last year or so I have made use of one particular social platform in a low key way. I use it to surround myself with bicyclists. They're like a warm rug you can pull around yourself. I don't contribute a lot, I just like to see the photos they put up - generally stuff like "me, on my bicycle" "my bicycle" and "me commuting on my bicycle." I have a strong bias towards bicycle commuters. I ride a road bike and I like being fast but for me, it's a commuting thing first and a love of bicycling thing second and everything else is mostly not there at all. The cyclecross racers, and the roadie racers post pictures of their "suffer face." It is a picture of them frowning mightily as they struggle bravely forward. I get it, I used to have something similar when ran road races and I was trying so hard to finish fast. But commuting is different, I may work hard up hill or be fast but I don't suffer, or at least I don't suffer in that physical way.
I suffer in other ways.
Louis CK ran this great piece about not giving his kids cell phones because he thought it disconnected them from reality. He goes on to talk about his experience being in his car and hearing a song and feeling terribly lonely and afraid and he wants to text everyone he knows but instead he feels the grief and cries and then feels better. He's very funny and in my opinion spot on so if you have not seen the bit check it out.
In the morning I am very busy, I have to work with my husband to get the girls up. I read to them. The Contraption Captain makes breakfast and I pack lunches. Hair is braided and the day is discussed and I tidy up clutter and start laundry and clean the cat box. At work I go to meetings, fix broken hardware, find problems, write documentation and...other stuff. My mind is occupied at all times and when it is not occupied it wants something mindless to do because mindless-ness pushes back things I'd rather not think about. Like my friend E.
I've known E for nearly twenty years, and we've shared many Thanksgivings. She took care of my oldest when I was delivering my youngest and my oldest had never been away from home for the night but she had a fantastic time. E and her husband D stayed friends with me when I split from my partner. More importantly they stayed close to my kids who loved them. About this time last year I got email that E had a brain tumor. I Googled for it right away of course and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that basically no one survived this kind of tumor at that stage in the game. I hoped for different but I did not get different, and as I write this she is dying at her home surrounded by her husband and daughters and many friends.
I don't think about E when I am clearing up the dinner plates or when I am paying the bills I push the thoughts away of how I feel about her being afraid, of how frightened I am by the idea that her brain is swelling and her head hurts her. I push the thoughts away up until I am riding my bicycle along some quiet stretch and then the thoughts come to me that E is dying, that I am far away, that there is nothing i can fix and little comfort I can provide. The sorrow I feel is tempered by the steady up and down of my feet as I pedal and pedal and pedal. It is as if my body assures me that something always goes on, even when something else is stopping. I am alone as bicyclists are alone, not really seen by the world around them and the sorrow I feel about E touches the deeper sorrow of knowing that everyone I know will one day die, that my children are not immortal, that there is a great deal of pain in the world. The corners of my mouth pull down and it probably looks pretty comical on a middle-aged lady biking as fast as she can, her eyes welling up. My suffer face.
After awhile I start to feel better. Nothing has changed but somehow you feel better able to accept what is happening, the things you cannot control, the sadness that exists, the wrongs you have done. I keep pedaling and my mind is mostly emptied out and I watch for the cars at intersections and I am quiet.
I suffer in other ways.
Louis CK ran this great piece about not giving his kids cell phones because he thought it disconnected them from reality. He goes on to talk about his experience being in his car and hearing a song and feeling terribly lonely and afraid and he wants to text everyone he knows but instead he feels the grief and cries and then feels better. He's very funny and in my opinion spot on so if you have not seen the bit check it out.
In the morning I am very busy, I have to work with my husband to get the girls up. I read to them. The Contraption Captain makes breakfast and I pack lunches. Hair is braided and the day is discussed and I tidy up clutter and start laundry and clean the cat box. At work I go to meetings, fix broken hardware, find problems, write documentation and...other stuff. My mind is occupied at all times and when it is not occupied it wants something mindless to do because mindless-ness pushes back things I'd rather not think about. Like my friend E.
I've known E for nearly twenty years, and we've shared many Thanksgivings. She took care of my oldest when I was delivering my youngest and my oldest had never been away from home for the night but she had a fantastic time. E and her husband D stayed friends with me when I split from my partner. More importantly they stayed close to my kids who loved them. About this time last year I got email that E had a brain tumor. I Googled for it right away of course and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that basically no one survived this kind of tumor at that stage in the game. I hoped for different but I did not get different, and as I write this she is dying at her home surrounded by her husband and daughters and many friends.
I don't think about E when I am clearing up the dinner plates or when I am paying the bills I push the thoughts away of how I feel about her being afraid, of how frightened I am by the idea that her brain is swelling and her head hurts her. I push the thoughts away up until I am riding my bicycle along some quiet stretch and then the thoughts come to me that E is dying, that I am far away, that there is nothing i can fix and little comfort I can provide. The sorrow I feel is tempered by the steady up and down of my feet as I pedal and pedal and pedal. It is as if my body assures me that something always goes on, even when something else is stopping. I am alone as bicyclists are alone, not really seen by the world around them and the sorrow I feel about E touches the deeper sorrow of knowing that everyone I know will one day die, that my children are not immortal, that there is a great deal of pain in the world. The corners of my mouth pull down and it probably looks pretty comical on a middle-aged lady biking as fast as she can, her eyes welling up. My suffer face.
After awhile I start to feel better. Nothing has changed but somehow you feel better able to accept what is happening, the things you cannot control, the sadness that exists, the wrongs you have done. I keep pedaling and my mind is mostly emptied out and I watch for the cars at intersections and I am quiet.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
a life without walls
I see a lot of the same people each day on my commute and there is definitely a favorite. I think I prefer this bicyclist because he has a generous and ready smile. We are always traveling in opposite directions. We have never stopped to talk. As we pass each other we wave or yell "good evening" or "nice weather" or "so windy!" He noticed when I no longer pulled a kid wagon "WHERE IS THE WAGON?" and I noticed when his kids also had gone off to kindergarten "GROWING UP SO FAST" and then it was just him on the way to (I presume) his office.
A few weeks back the Contraption Captain was pedaling with me into the office and we saw this bicyclist and as we passed each other I called out "THIS IS MY HUSBAND" and he smiled and waved.
I saw the bicyclist again as I went in to work yesterday and as we passed each other he said "I ENJOYED MEETING YOUR HUSBAND!"
I was delighted and amused the rest of the way home and then today I was reminded of that moment as I read this article. Cars do not do a good job of seeing bicycles and bicyclists are prevented from seeing much of what is in the car but almost everything else is seen, and considered, and on a lucky day, also understood.
A few weeks back the Contraption Captain was pedaling with me into the office and we saw this bicyclist and as we passed each other I called out "THIS IS MY HUSBAND" and he smiled and waved.
I saw the bicyclist again as I went in to work yesterday and as we passed each other he said "I ENJOYED MEETING YOUR HUSBAND!"
I was delighted and amused the rest of the way home and then today I was reminded of that moment as I read this article. Cars do not do a good job of seeing bicycles and bicyclists are prevented from seeing much of what is in the car but almost everything else is seen, and considered, and on a lucky day, also understood.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
dial 1-800 when I want your opinion I'll give it to you Mr. and MRs. SUV
This year Rapunzel started 4th grade, which means she starts at a new school. Pele' started her freshman year in High School, so two new schools and two new commutes.
Rapunzel has been planning her commute for the last year. She now walks to school and walks home afterwards unaccompanied by doting parents. She informed us months ago, politely, that she would prefer to walk by herself and so we accompany her to the end of the driveway and hug and kiss her and then she sets out alone.
My father can't entirely get past this.
Father: "does she run all the way to school?"
Me: "I'm not there so I don't know."
Father: "does she meet up with friends?"
Me: "Well, I'm not sure actually, maybe sometimes?"
This solo behavior is in contrast to Pele' who liked the company of a parent even when she was not feeling very talkative and was always walked to school and was usually holding hands damn the torpedoes or any sneering teenagers. Pele' has zero patience for sneering teenagers, demonstrating that at least one of my "you can go fuck yourself" genes will stay in the gene pool after I am gone.
I asked Rapunzel at one point about why she wanted to be alone (probably because I had paranoid thoughts that she did not want her peers to realize that the two weirdos in the area were her parents) and she said, in a very civilized way, that being along gave a person a different perspective, one she enjoyed from time to time. Maybe she is embarrassed by her two weirdo parents in which case I think it is extra classy that she considered our feelings so nicely in her response. Rapunzel, if you ever see this and you were embarrassed? Totally ok. I embarrass myself some days.
So Rapunzel walks to school. Check. Cue Pele'.
Pele's high school is about four miles away and she is taking an extra elective which means she has to be there at the ass-crack of dawn. We confer and after much hemming and hawing during which I consider the route (mostly ok for the US but not separated from cars beyond an occasional bicycle lane and including two nasty-ass intersections) and the hour (see ass-crack comment) we decide on her talking the city bus which stops conveniently near to our home. Tada. Contraption Captain works out the schedule and on day one of school she marches out to get the bus to school. What could be more normal?
Yeah well this is the US where our city buses run on a best effort basis. She sits out there and waits and nothing happens. She waits. Nothing. She waits. Did I mention that Pele' is mildly obsessed with punctuality? Pele' is mildly obsessed with punctuality. Possibly a lot obsessed. She and Contraption come running home totally breathless and if you think she gets in the car you are mistaken. They get on their bicycles and she is escorted off to school and just makes it, go team.
The next day we tried and struck out on the bus again and by day 4 were were pretty well trained to bicycle. If Contraption Captain is not available to ride her home she rides in to school on the back of his bicycle (recall it is giant and recumbent and comfortable for riding) and takes the (over-crowded) bus home and if he is available to assist (most days) she rides her bicycle in and rides her bicycle home with him again.
This raises the obvious question of "why does she need anyone to ride with her at all?" The easy answer is "she prefers the company and feels safer with company." The less easy answer is that I'm scared for her to ride by herself. I'm scared some asshole will kill my daughter with their SUV.
Some people think this is silly of me. I was at a soccer game a few weeks ago and this mother who has a kid at the same school asked how Pele' got to school. I said we had tried the bus but it had been unreliable etc. etc. and so we were bicycling but that was nerve-wreacking also yet Contraption was accompanying her. She didn't understand why I was worried about the route and repeated that we lived very close. She said "you can bicycle of course, it is easy for you, for us it is too far." I said that I was worried about the car traffic at El Camino and she looked blank. She explained, more severely this time, "For us it is too far of course but for you, a very easy ride."
I smiled politely and said nothing else.
What I wanted to say was "I wish everyone who was driving their kid in to school but thought my kid should bicycle and who had no idea why that might make me nervous would park their SUV on a steep hill, release the parking brake, and then run in front and lie down so their own car could roll slowly over them." Because fuck you lady. Fuck you lady because I have biked past your house many times, it's hardly too far and your kid doesn't even have an early class, she's just a lazy fuck and so are you. Fuck all of you who do jack shit but enjoy telling me that what I do is easy or not enough or too protective or whatever the fuck your problem is.
I feel better now, thanks.
I told you about Rapunzel in an effort to show that my anxiety has a single focus: death by automobile. My 9 year old walks to school solo and I am cool and not obsessing. I know it's a decent neighborhood. I know she can look after herself. I know she can stay out of the road. There is risk to all things but the risk created by Rapunzel walking to and from school is not far from the risk of getting out of bed on a cold day.
The risk to people on bicycles is real. Redwood City Girl died last year on a "safe" route and was even held at fault for dying. An experienced bicyclist was just killed by a delivery truck who turned left into her in an area where bicyclists love to swarm and train. The conclusion from that death was "maybe we should ban bicyclists from Skyline." As a friend said "How come the answer is never to ban the cars?"
As long as this country continues to take such a lackadaisical attitude towards the safety of our children on their way to school (and their parents and other relatives on their way to work or the store or wherever) I have to be the one who does the due diligence. Maybe I can sort a route I feel ok about. I hope so. But right now I have her bicycling and I have a set of experienced adult eyes watching for her and that's what I need to feel ok about this.
Rapunzel has been planning her commute for the last year. She now walks to school and walks home afterwards unaccompanied by doting parents. She informed us months ago, politely, that she would prefer to walk by herself and so we accompany her to the end of the driveway and hug and kiss her and then she sets out alone.
My father can't entirely get past this.
Father: "does she run all the way to school?"
Me: "I'm not there so I don't know."
Father: "does she meet up with friends?"
Me: "Well, I'm not sure actually, maybe sometimes?"
This solo behavior is in contrast to Pele' who liked the company of a parent even when she was not feeling very talkative and was always walked to school and was usually holding hands damn the torpedoes or any sneering teenagers. Pele' has zero patience for sneering teenagers, demonstrating that at least one of my "you can go fuck yourself" genes will stay in the gene pool after I am gone.
I asked Rapunzel at one point about why she wanted to be alone (probably because I had paranoid thoughts that she did not want her peers to realize that the two weirdos in the area were her parents) and she said, in a very civilized way, that being along gave a person a different perspective, one she enjoyed from time to time. Maybe she is embarrassed by her two weirdo parents in which case I think it is extra classy that she considered our feelings so nicely in her response. Rapunzel, if you ever see this and you were embarrassed? Totally ok. I embarrass myself some days.
So Rapunzel walks to school. Check. Cue Pele'.
Pele's high school is about four miles away and she is taking an extra elective which means she has to be there at the ass-crack of dawn. We confer and after much hemming and hawing during which I consider the route (mostly ok for the US but not separated from cars beyond an occasional bicycle lane and including two nasty-ass intersections) and the hour (see ass-crack comment) we decide on her talking the city bus which stops conveniently near to our home. Tada. Contraption Captain works out the schedule and on day one of school she marches out to get the bus to school. What could be more normal?
Yeah well this is the US where our city buses run on a best effort basis. She sits out there and waits and nothing happens. She waits. Nothing. She waits. Did I mention that Pele' is mildly obsessed with punctuality? Pele' is mildly obsessed with punctuality. Possibly a lot obsessed. She and Contraption come running home totally breathless and if you think she gets in the car you are mistaken. They get on their bicycles and she is escorted off to school and just makes it, go team.
The next day we tried and struck out on the bus again and by day 4 were were pretty well trained to bicycle. If Contraption Captain is not available to ride her home she rides in to school on the back of his bicycle (recall it is giant and recumbent and comfortable for riding) and takes the (over-crowded) bus home and if he is available to assist (most days) she rides her bicycle in and rides her bicycle home with him again.
This raises the obvious question of "why does she need anyone to ride with her at all?" The easy answer is "she prefers the company and feels safer with company." The less easy answer is that I'm scared for her to ride by herself. I'm scared some asshole will kill my daughter with their SUV.
Some people think this is silly of me. I was at a soccer game a few weeks ago and this mother who has a kid at the same school asked how Pele' got to school. I said we had tried the bus but it had been unreliable etc. etc. and so we were bicycling but that was nerve-wreacking also yet Contraption was accompanying her. She didn't understand why I was worried about the route and repeated that we lived very close. She said "you can bicycle of course, it is easy for you, for us it is too far." I said that I was worried about the car traffic at El Camino and she looked blank. She explained, more severely this time, "For us it is too far of course but for you, a very easy ride."
I smiled politely and said nothing else.
What I wanted to say was "I wish everyone who was driving their kid in to school but thought my kid should bicycle and who had no idea why that might make me nervous would park their SUV on a steep hill, release the parking brake, and then run in front and lie down so their own car could roll slowly over them." Because fuck you lady. Fuck you lady because I have biked past your house many times, it's hardly too far and your kid doesn't even have an early class, she's just a lazy fuck and so are you. Fuck all of you who do jack shit but enjoy telling me that what I do is easy or not enough or too protective or whatever the fuck your problem is.
I feel better now, thanks.
I told you about Rapunzel in an effort to show that my anxiety has a single focus: death by automobile. My 9 year old walks to school solo and I am cool and not obsessing. I know it's a decent neighborhood. I know she can look after herself. I know she can stay out of the road. There is risk to all things but the risk created by Rapunzel walking to and from school is not far from the risk of getting out of bed on a cold day.
The risk to people on bicycles is real. Redwood City Girl died last year on a "safe" route and was even held at fault for dying. An experienced bicyclist was just killed by a delivery truck who turned left into her in an area where bicyclists love to swarm and train. The conclusion from that death was "maybe we should ban bicyclists from Skyline." As a friend said "How come the answer is never to ban the cars?"
As long as this country continues to take such a lackadaisical attitude towards the safety of our children on their way to school (and their parents and other relatives on their way to work or the store or wherever) I have to be the one who does the due diligence. Maybe I can sort a route I feel ok about. I hope so. But right now I have her bicycling and I have a set of experienced adult eyes watching for her and that's what I need to feel ok about this.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
bunnies!
I've seen three rabbits so far on the part of my commute that is new and car-free. They are quite tall and have giant ears that stick up over the tall grass. They ignore me entirely until I stop my bicycle and stare at them at which point they look over at me, stop chewing, and say "wtf are you staring at?" Then they either freeze "if I don't move, no one can see me" or they run off "I am the wind!!"
Here is a picture with a rabbit in the middle. Really.
It's still pretty new and exciting for me to see animals that run around as opposed to the flat kind I generally see on my regular commute.
Here's a close-up of the bunny ears.
His friend had already taken off when I got the Contraption Captain to take this picture. Hopefully they don't put a picture of me pointing and staring with flecks of drool at the corner's of my mouth up onto their Facebook.
And here is a copyrighted picture in which you can actually see what a California jack rabbit looks like. Big. Long ears. Sensitive whiskers.
Here is a picture with a rabbit in the middle. Really.
It's still pretty new and exciting for me to see animals that run around as opposed to the flat kind I generally see on my regular commute.
Here's a close-up of the bunny ears.
And here is a copyrighted picture in which you can actually see what a California jack rabbit looks like. Big. Long ears. Sensitive whiskers.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
the lonely sea and the sky
I asked the Contraption Captain to take a picture of the new pretty part of my commute when we were riding together yesterday. He thought maybe I should wait for a more classically beautiful California sky but I like this quiet pigeon-colored grey. You can see the faring of his recumbent in the lower right corner.
Monday, September 16, 2013
a legend in your own self-important mind
Last week I was waiting at a traffic light and as is usual for me I check out the cars to my right and left to see who is listening to music with headphones, who is texting, who is just sitting there staring straight ahead (pretty much no one) and who is frothing at the mouth because in any crowd at a red light at least one driver generally seems to be on the verge of a psychotic break.
To my right is your garden variety huge huge huge SUV. It is driven by a sour looking woman with white earbuds who is arduously typing a text into her phone. Her lips are all squeezy and pursed out and her brow is furrowed and she has these weirdly tiny hands and I am suddenly reminded of what a Tyrannosaurus Rex would look like using a calculator.
Her car is a Ford Expedition. I smirk. The Expedition is billed as providing [please use a deep voice when reading the next three words] "Confidence and Comfort." The propaganda shows it with a backdrop of a lovely forest, a backdrop of a lovely ocean, and towing a giant boat. Yes. This is the car that you take to travel to distant unspoiled wilderness where you drop your powerboat into the water of a clear lake and then pollute the bejesus out of the area with your noise and fumes. Except the most strenuous trip this spotless dingless SUV has ever made was to the Pottery Barn at the Stanford Mall. Then I see her license plate and it is a play on the word...
LEGEND.
I laugh out loud. There is something so incredibly sad and pathetic (but funny!) about a person sitting in a metal box and awkwardly tapping at a phone who self-identifies as "legend." Fortunately since bicycles are pretty much invisible she doesn't see me laughing.
But the best view turns out to be to my left. Here a crabby looking guy on a shitty motorcycle (my co-workers have fancy motorcycles so I know a cheap craptastic one when I see it) is glowering at the world. He has a basic model motorcycle helmet on his head and the helmet has a carefully lettered slogan and the slogan is:
I AM THE SHIT THAT HAPPENS.
And all this time I've been blaming our two cats!
Seriously. Seriously? "I am the shit that happens?" What the fuck does that even mean? All it means to me is a long curving brown growing pile of stank. My brain starts helpfully suggesting different images of shit happening and it's about as disgusting as you might expect but it is also really funny so I stand there laughing so hard that I have to unclip on both sides. I laugh until the light turns green and then I weakly wobble off towards home.
There is nothing so filled with potential for humor as a totally humorless automobile.
To my right is your garden variety huge huge huge SUV. It is driven by a sour looking woman with white earbuds who is arduously typing a text into her phone. Her lips are all squeezy and pursed out and her brow is furrowed and she has these weirdly tiny hands and I am suddenly reminded of what a Tyrannosaurus Rex would look like using a calculator.
Her car is a Ford Expedition. I smirk. The Expedition is billed as providing [please use a deep voice when reading the next three words] "Confidence and Comfort." The propaganda shows it with a backdrop of a lovely forest, a backdrop of a lovely ocean, and towing a giant boat. Yes. This is the car that you take to travel to distant unspoiled wilderness where you drop your powerboat into the water of a clear lake and then pollute the bejesus out of the area with your noise and fumes. Except the most strenuous trip this spotless dingless SUV has ever made was to the Pottery Barn at the Stanford Mall. Then I see her license plate and it is a play on the word...
LEGEND.
I laugh out loud. There is something so incredibly sad and pathetic (but funny!) about a person sitting in a metal box and awkwardly tapping at a phone who self-identifies as "legend." Fortunately since bicycles are pretty much invisible she doesn't see me laughing.
But the best view turns out to be to my left. Here a crabby looking guy on a shitty motorcycle (my co-workers have fancy motorcycles so I know a cheap craptastic one when I see it) is glowering at the world. He has a basic model motorcycle helmet on his head and the helmet has a carefully lettered slogan and the slogan is:
I AM THE SHIT THAT HAPPENS.
And all this time I've been blaming our two cats!
Seriously. Seriously? "I am the shit that happens?" What the fuck does that even mean? All it means to me is a long curving brown growing pile of stank. My brain starts helpfully suggesting different images of shit happening and it's about as disgusting as you might expect but it is also really funny so I stand there laughing so hard that I have to unclip on both sides. I laugh until the light turns green and then I weakly wobble off towards home.
There is nothing so filled with potential for humor as a totally humorless automobile.
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