This past Monday night, I had in mind that I was going to pull my first 13-mile bike ride. I usually do about 10 miles per ride, but if I was going to get used to accomplishing 12.1 for my triathlon I still haven’t jumped into the water for, I thought I better see if my rear end didn’t eat the bicycle seat with 3 extra miles. I drove my car along the course in advance to map out the mileage and the plan was to drive through North Logan, through Hyde Park, and end up in Smithfield where I’d turn around in the Sky View round-about and venture back home. Three extra miles should be nothing on a bike.
Firstly, I’m going to have to drive around to all the farmer’s who own big fields in the valley and make a list of the times they plan on freshly manuring their fields… for serious! I ain’t a stranger to the smell of cow manure. There’s usually the perma smell going on around the valley on a 24/7 basis, but it’s completely different when the farmer manures his 77-acre field and I happen to ride my bike next to said field while he’s manuring. I have a sensitive smeller. I dry heave at the very sign of gross… fish cooking… dry heave… diapers being changed… dry heave… and rolling around in cow dung… DRY HEAVE!!! So, I’m riding my bike and this farmer dude is spreading manure on his field and the smell is so strong, I have to stop and pull up my shirt to cover my nose… my eyes are watering, I’m dry heaving up a storm, and it’s neverending. The street I was riding down was at least a mile long… freshly cow dunged fields up and down both sides of the street too.
I finally get far enough away from the field to quit the heaving, but then I hear this humongously loud popping sound and before I know it I’m stopped on the side of the road with a completely pancaked rear tire. My worst fear when I first got a bike was having the tires pop under my weight. Thank all that be holy that was not the case this time… I ran over something sharp. I blame it on the cow dung, though. So, here I am stranded in Hyde Park walking my bike along the side of the road, walrus wearing a thimble on my head. And the only thing that could have made this picture better was if I was wearing a pink-tulled tutu and a sports bra with streamers. I don’t always bring my cell phone with me on bike rides… but for some reason this time I did. Madre to the rescue. Which would have been cool and all but the first thing she said to me when I’d loaded the bike in the truck and climbed into the passenger seat was… you smell like cow manure. THANK YOU!!!!!!! I rest my case.
I don’t know how I smelled so horrid when I didn’t actually roll around in the stuff. Is cow manure like smoke in that just because you’re driving by it, you automatically smell like a transient junk heap? I had to disinfect my clothes and take an extra long shower when I got home.
Rest in peace, Rumpita the bicycle and your tire. I guess I have to learn how to repair you now… though I’m thinking lazy will win out and I’ll just take it into Al’s!
Question of the Day: What’s your least favorite smell?
That’s George Jefferson, the feral cat in the background. Anyone want a stray feral cat named George?