You are here

Followers make good teachers

Sometimes I think I’m “all that” and I am!

And then I do idiocy and dig my bicycle out of a two-year storage, plunk on a helmet made for a bigger brain, and pedal like the dickens (because I was going to be late) the 8.5 km to work.

About two km into the stupidity was when I rolled my eyes to the wind and said out loud—in my self-deprecating voice—things that I shall not repeat in public.

My saddle bones were smoldering from bike seat friction, my lungs were on fire, and I’d lost feeling in my right hand from gripping the handle bar too tight.

Full text available to digital subscribers only.

Login or Subscribe to the Digital Edition