Mind over matter

After my little saga with the mower and the lawn on Wednesday, I decided to take things easy for a day or so.

I found myself down in the village on Thursday.  It was a beautiful day [for a change] so I decided to sit in the sunshine for a while outside the coffee shop. 

So there I was, feeling very continental with a grand mug of coffee, a good head of steam built up on the pipe and the sun beaming down determined to split rocks.  I was at peace with the world.

Then along came a cyclist.

I honestly don't know what it is about me and cyclists.  It's much the same as cats and dogs.  Why do dogs tolerate just about any animal they come across but will spit hell fire and fury when they see a cat?  I'm the same with cyclists.  It's completely irrational but when one of them arrives with the bunch of black bananas on his head, the Lycra outfit with bulges in all sorts of disgusting places and shoes that clack and wobble, I see red.  I think it's the aura they try to give off – the smug "look what I'm doing for the environment" bit; the "I'm wonderfully fit and you're not" implication.  Whatever it is, I really fucking hate them.

So this cyclist parks his machine on the pavement where everyone will trip over it [another strange characteristic of cyclists] and he clacks his way into the coffee shop.  A moment later he returns with a bicycle pump and sets to work on his machine.  He crouched there pumping away like mad, again forcing pedestrians out onto the road to pass him.

I sat and mused.  I had used a foot pump on the tractor tyre and it took a fair bit of effort, but Jayzus this cyclist was pumping far harder that I had.  He was pouring sweat as he pumped and pumped.

The thought crossed my mind that it would serve the fucker right if his tyre burst.  I have witnessed tyres bursting in the past and they can be quite spectacular.  I chided myself for having such uncharitable thoughts but then decided to indulge in my fantasy, simply because he was a cyclist, and because the sight of him was annoying me.  So I sat and pondered upon the effects of a bicycle tyre exploding.

There was a loud bang.

It was roughly equivalent to a twelve bore going off beside me,

The cyclist was now sitting in the gutter with a look of utter surprise, and a few bits of rubber on his face.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

I was also feeling rather pleased with myself.

I had proved that psychokineses works.

But I wasn't going to tell him that.

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Comments

Mind over matter — 17 Comments

  1. There has been a movement in the force…the dark side within you has been confirmed…supershadow will be displeased. That's buggered up your Jedi high council seat. Still the sith do have redeeming qualities without them there would be no need for the jedi.

    • Bugger!  I'd forgotten about SS.  Doubtless I am about to receive a long tirade about my dark thoughts towards those who are singlehandedly saving the planet by cycling.

        •  

          Bugger. I clicked on that link before I realised that Amazon (who logs me on automatically whenever I visit their site) are now going to be pestering me about Carmen Miranda hats and other similar merchandise. I bet there's an email heading for my inbox even now.

          I have similarly uncharitable feelings about our lycra clad eco-warriors. As you say, GD, they exude a sanctimoniousness that's just begging for a smack in the face. I'm glad to see your dark powers are in the ascendency. Perhaps you could turn your attentions toward that oxygen thief Reilly next. The world would be forever grateful.

  2. As P.J. O'Rourke once said, only two proper places for a bicycle, under a paper boy or under the wheels of an articulated lorry.

    But if you wonder why these Lycra lads always seem  so angry – I once read in a medical book that the constant pressure of racing saddles on the prostate causes various male problems by the midlife of many keen cyclists.

    They should take it easier, like folk I used to see when living out in Hungary, where you'd often see an old boy or granny wobbling back from market on an 'iron donkey', inevitably three sheets to the wind and having a grand day (not unlike Ireland in the old days, I suppose).

    • I have no problem with ordinary bicycles.  If I see one on the road I treat the rider with the greatest respect, provided they are using the bike as a mode of transport and not a fucking statement.  The only others who wear a full rigout for their occupation/sport/whatever are scuba-divers, but they at least have a reasonable excuse.

  3. Bravo, Grandad! You appear to have had a true Addams Family moment. Now, would you mind paying me a visit? They have an annual cyclist run in these parts (running on our back roads, the dirt ones, no less) that causes all sorts of hell and discontent among the locals who actually work for a living. And everyone of them are dressed as you describe including the bloody bananas on their heads. We could sit you out on our back deck in a very comfortable hammock chair and you can just take mental pot shots as the holy than thou, banana wearing with disgusting bulges, traffic snarling cyclists roll by.

    And I guarantee you won't have to mow the lawn unless you really want to.

    • That sounds like a nice plan.  I could just fancy sitting there on your deck, sipping a few beers and picking off passing cyclists with my sniper mind.  Maybe a barbecue on the side? 

      • Barbecue? Definitely! I'll even have a couple brews with you (first time in a few years–probably taste damn good). I can picture it now, sun shining, sipping some beer and watching cyclists doing face-plants on the pavement as you trig their front tires with your mind. Such a lovely picture.
         

  4. And yes, I'm trying to catch up on my commenting if you haven't figure that out yet. So much to do and it takes me so long to do it.

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