It's been my mode of transportation this semester. I've ridden it all over town. And I have ALL KINDS of adventures on it.
Adventure #1 - Lorie's front brakes don't work. So I always have to have my right hand on the handlebars to brake when I need to. I, however, really like riding with no hands, especially when I misjudge how cold it is outside and I need to use both of my hands to re wrap my scarf and zip up my coat while I'm riding. So one morning I was riding along, performing my act, when a car pulled out of the Maverick I was passing, right in front of me, and I just barely got my right hand down to pull on the brakes before I hit this guy. I've GOT to start getting out the door on time so I have a few minutes to spare for readjusting my clothing to the cold rather than doing it while I'm riding.
Adventure #2 - One morning, a few weeks ago, I was riding along to school, minding my own business, when a car door swung open in front of me. I swerved and was able to miss it. That was the first adventure of that kind, and hopefully the last.
Adventure #3 - This is the most recent adventure, and the one that prompted this post. I was planning on having a dessert night with my friend/ex-teacher/ex-boss Rachel and her husband tonight, so I went to the store last night to buy ice cream and root beer. I parked the bike, went in, made my purchase, and came back to the bike. As I was unlocking the bike, I heard a man talking on the payphone down the sidewalk. He was talking strange. I'm not sure how to describe it, but his speech was being affected by something. He didn't have a speech impediment, and he was a native English speaker. I figured I didn't really want to stick around to figure out what the deal was. So I start pedaling a little faster than usual on my way back home. So when I went over a bump going off the sidewalk, I bumped a little harder than usual. And I'm not sure the bag could have withstood the usual bump, anyway. Under the pressure of the root beer bouncing up and then crashing back down into it pretty hard, the bag tore, dumping my ice cream and soda onto the pavement. I thought I had hit a rock and popped the tire because the hiss of soda escaping from the bottle was the first thing that alerted me to the problem. The second thing that alerted me to the problem was the soda that was being sprayed in my face and all over my clothes. In the end, though, there was still a half bottle left of root beer, and it still tasted really good with the ice cream.