April 28, 2000

Stream of Consciousness entry, anyone? Miscellaneous thoughts that have run through my brain the last couple of days that have been screaming to be written down here.

A summary of the topics lately in the diary-l mailing list: Elian, Columbine, zoo shootings. Such happy topics that dominate the US conscience these days. Regarding the first; 37 years of sanctions is enough, USA. They've done more harm than good than Castro likely ever has. Get with the program already. Regarding the second and third; lose the guns for a start. All they do is provide an easy way out for these people's agression. If they weren't there in the first place, perhaps these nutbars might have to actually think about what they're contemplating and choose a less lethal course of action.

Enough of that; makes me shake my head and wonder what goes on the heads of some people (not all, just a choice few) south of the border. On to better and brighter things!

This journal thingy is now 3 years old! More accurately I started it 3 years ago; there have been some hiatuses (hiati?) along the way, so it hasn't been a solid 3 yeas; but still! More importantly, the hockey playoffs are here! Another run to the Stanley Cup is healthily underway, and I'm hoping my Leafers will finally win the thing for the first time since 1967.

Gasoline cost approx 70 cents / litre now in Toronto. That's still half the price of a litre of milk. Gasoline is not a renewable resource, but milk is. It could be just brain burn out my part (when isn't it?) but there's something that strikes me as being not-quite-right with that. I wonder if we could get cars to run on milk?

The other day at lunch, a teacher and I were discussing stupid things that boys do. I've mulled over this since and I'm amazed that the male half of the species survives past the first 10 years of life. We do some seriously brain-dead things in our childhood. I look back at my own, and there are things that I've done and other have done to me that are just plain dumb. I've mentioned my Red River plunge in a previous entry.

When I was 8, living in Bermuda, I borrowed the bicycle of Cathy Cousineau so I could go riding with her brother Ricky. It was one of those stereotypical 70s bikes, with the chopper handlebars and banana seat. Yes, it was a girl's bike, but it was a set of wheels for someone who didn't have any. While out riding, we ran into a bunch of Ricky's friends on their bikes. They were going to the top of a hill and zooming down the road at full speed to make skid marks with their squealing tires when they stopped. It looked like fun, so we joined in.

The road downhill was straight for a ways, then branched down off to the left towards the ocean. The bend in the road was where all the tire marks were being made. There was a gravel driveway to the immediate right of the bend, and a concrete wall than ran along the driveway and road, forming the top of a T with the main hill the base. (Got it?)

First time down the hill was great fun! Wind in my hair, picking up speed, feeling the sound barrier break at my passing, then SCREEEEE! as I back-pedal to lock the brakes in place. Big black skid mark 3000 feet long! Back up we go. Some of the other kids go down first, then Ricky. They all peel out at the bottom and wait for my next assault on the hill. I pedal furiously to pick up speed (gravity not providing enough acceleration) and assume the aerodynamic position over the handlebars, feet flat on the pedals. I was travelling so fast, Einstein was cheering from his grave.

Time to apply the brakes and make the best skid mark of them all, and on a girl's bike too! [Technical side bar: the back-pedal style of brakes work best if the reverse thrust is applied to the pedals so they end up horizontally.] I take my already horizontal pedals and back-pedal them into a vertical one up one down position. Rut-roh. My tires aren't squaling. I'm barely slowing at all. The brakes aren't working! Aaaaahhhhhh!!! Think fast Ron. You don't want to bear left at the bottom and plunge eventually into the Atlantic. Can't go straight, there's a wall there. The driveway! I'll just steer into the gravel driveway and harmlessly come to a stop over on the yard there. . .

I hit the gravel at full speed and attempt the turn. Natural laws of physics take over and I'm very shortly travelling sideways across the gravel. *Slam!* I impact the concrete wall; I'm now hurtling over the wall, bike and all; *Thud!* I land on my back on the asphalt driveway located on the other side of the wall. *Crack!* my skull colllides with the surface. I look up and see the remains of the bicycle land on me.

I'm pretty sure I lost consciousness after that; I was also most likely concussed. I have fleeting memory images of the owner of the house coming out to see how I am; of being in his kitchen when my Dad came to get me; of being in the back of the car driving up that cursed hill. Cathy did get a new bike out of it at our expense. I sorta totalled that one I was riding.

Hindsight shows me what I could have - should have done to avoid that intimate meeting with Mr. Wall. Number one, apply the brakes properly, even if that meant a half pedal forwards beforehand. Number two, I should have veered left and followed the road, which would have given me enough time to realise number one. Number three, I shouldn't have been riding a cursed girls bike. (Ok, a stretch on that one.)

The annual school garage sale is taking place today - where the families of the students donate a ton of their old stuff to the sale, and the sales all go to charity. I've just returned from it with my largest haul in the last few years. 1 12" single, 3 cassettes, 3 videos and a book. There was much more junk there to browse through - too much for one pass.

Time for Sanford & Son here to pack it in and head off. Later all...