Oops.

I went shopping for a bike yesterday. I have a rusty old J.C. Higgins 3-speed cruiser collecting dust in the garage, which I bought 10 years ago for $10 and a pitcher of PBR, but I haven't ridden it in a couple years. But since I'm going to participate in the Bike Commute Challenge like a good Portlander, I ought to have something a little more rideable.

Revolver had the type of bike I was looking for, and the non-snobby bike-hipster punk salesman set me up with one to take for a test spin. I immediately learned that despite what you may have heard, you can forget how to ride a bike. Or at least how to mount one. I crashed on the sidewalk outside of the store, and got laughed at by a carload of gangsta thugs.
The dudes in the shop must have seen me, but were polite and didn't say anything about it when I returned after a quick ride around the block. I bought the bike and rode it home without incident. It's nice.

Maybe someone can tell me if this coincidence is significant: the guys at the bike shop were listening to a post-metal band called Isis. Later that evening I crossed paths on the sidewalk with a woman walking her pit bull, which ran up to sniff my leg (the dog, not the lady). The woman scolded, "Isis, no!". Maybe the ancient Egyptian goddess of magic and life is trying to tell me something? Regardless, I downloaded some tracks from Isis, the band, which I am listening to right now. I like their heavy crushing songs better than their arty ambient songs.

I'm going to go ride my bike now.

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