Riding a bike in Ohio

Tonight I went for a bike ride, got kind of lost, ended up a lot of miles outside of town, going in what I thought was the right direction but was actually the opposite-of-right direction. And do you know, those fields just go on and on, and there’s no indication of where you are, or in which direction you’re going, unless you can tell by the setting sun, which is how I noticed I was going in the wrong direction.

Normally, in this sort of situation, I’d just keep riding until I found something, but I’m from a much more populated part of the country than southwest Ohio, and therefore got a little freaked out. Because really, I could be riding forever, and it’d get dark, and there are no street lights, nothing, probably no cell phone signal. And I wouldn’t want to have to freak out some poor unassuming socially-conservative farmer with my fringe-queer ways—I know how deviant I am with the tattoos and blue-black buzzed hair—in the middle of the night asking how to get to Yellow Springs, and they’d be all, Yellow Springs, no shit, I would never have guessed, dripping with sarcasm, because they don’t understand dry humor here, and if they weren’t rude and patronizing to me, they might be afraid that I’d infect their children, but then I’m generalizing, they might be totally cool with me, they should be used to this shit, being so close to Yellow “Twilight Zone” Springs and all. Who can say, really? As long as I don’t mention I’m from the Northeast, I’ll probably be fine.

What frightened me more than that thought was the thought that I’d run out of even the occasional farmhouse, that I’d run out of paved road, that I’d fall off the face of the planet, all sweaty and wobbly and out of breath from too much uphill biking. And that’s no way to go, not today, anyway. And forget all the monsters and bugs the size of small mammals that come out of the woodwork as soon as the sun goes down, big evil wretched things the likes of which I cannot even contemplate.

Ohio farmIt was pretty, though. I got this picture at a farm in which sheeps and animals that looked like llamas scurried from the edge of the fence as I approached and stared at me from a distance. Then they got bored and continued to eat, mildly annoyed at the interruption, which merely stared back.


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3 responses to “Riding a bike in Ohio

  1. That’s a wicked photo, Vee. Those clouds look like as if there were danceing, or an image, or even a messsage from what? God? lol!
    Sorry you got lost, that sexy bike if yours has a head of her own . . . I had a similar experience once. I was on the bike bath and because I was so far out, there was no bike path anymore, and plus it was getting dark, and as I was half hour away from the campus, that is half hour of riding on the bike path, I almost couldn’t see the road ahead of me, Oh, i know how scary that shit was . . .we, city girls, are not really used that. Then, those big bugs, seriously, those big bugs whose heads were bigger than my head and my hair all my combined kept flying into my face, so i had to do the whole Mattrix thing and just kept on going forward against those bug-bullets. When I finally got out, I felt like I just went through a war! And did I tell you that no one was around . . .not even one biker! One advice, get a compass, or a whistle, or something . . XOXOOXXO- B.

  2. thanks for the comment, b. torden guinness aka lordy pete certainly gets around, doesn’t he? (yes, i am anthropomorphizing and gendering our bike.)

    i too love the clouds. i love clouds in general. and you know me and my blues.

    but yuck bugs eh.

  3. Give me an old cool bicycle, and I’ll ride around the city for days.

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