This is mine and I know how to use it.

From the time I was hatched back in Nickerson, Kansas, I knew right from wrong, up from down and which side of the road to walk on most of the time.  When it came time to ride a bike I knew which side of the road to do that on also.  When walking I walk on the left side of the road so I can see and avoid the oncoming traffic.  If it becomes necessary, I can step into the ditch.  

When I drive that is done on the right side of the road because that is where I belong.  When I ride my bike, I ride on the right side.  My bike is the same as a car or motorcycle.  It makes sense to me.  If a car comes up behind me, it can slow down if there is oncoming traffic or speed up and pass me. I bring this up for several reasons.  Last evening I went out to fill up the car so I did not have to do it in the blinding blizzard this morning which is neither here nor there.  On 25th Lane the inevitable occurred.  There was a car coming towards me on the left side of the road.  And there was a bike coming towards me on the right side of the road.  Neither one was going to give an inch so I just stopped.

And this brings me to the next part of the equation.  Our city fathers, in their infinite wisdom have spent tax money painting bike lanes all over our fair city.  I have yet to see a bike rider in those lanes and the bikers I talk to refuse to use them because they are not suicidal.  Bikers still ride on the sidewalks and dart across the street in the middle of the block.  On fifth street, which is one way going east.  They have 2 bike lanes, one going east and one going west. Parking is in the middle of the street.  And yet on Mark Hamal heading towards Santa Fe, the parking is against the curb and the bike lane is between the parking and the traffic lane.  I would not try that one, because a door is going to open right in front of me and there I go.  When you get to Santa Fe you will need to run over the cyclist if you want to turn because the bike lane abruptly ends there.

Now to my rant.  Wouldn't it have just been easier and a whole lot cheaper and less confusing to teach people how to ride a bike on a public road?  We have to have driving lessons and a drivers license, why couldn't they require the same for a bike?  Now I am getting pretty damned old here and I am sure at some point they are going to revoke my license, but I can ride a bike!  Or I could ride a bike except for that balance thing that seems to go south with age.  I do know one thing, sooner or later, if I keep driving in town and anyone is stupid enough to use the bike lane, I am probably going to run over them.  And since I said this, it will no doubt be pre-meditated!  

You know, I kind of hate this getting old because now I can see where the government is screwing up and I am just to tired to give a shit!  You have a good day!

Ah, my bicycle and a chance to run head on with a Mack truck!

See me on my bike?  See my bike without me on it?  See that car in the background?  What do you think would happen if I were on the road and I met that car head on?  Think I would damage that grill and leave it a shattered mess?  Or do you think me and my little bike would lose that round?  Pretty sure I know the answer to that one.  But here is what happens every day of my life.

I go some where in the car.  Now I have always been taught that when I ride a bike I am to follow all the rules that a car or motorcycle would follow.  Stay on the right side of the road.  Stop at stop signs.  Use a hand signal to indicate what my next move will be.  Oh, yeah and obey the speed limit.  I have no problem with that.  Can't hardly keep moving without falling over most of the time, but that is irrelevant.

So here I am tooling along and up the road headed straight toward me is a bicycle.  Some times it is a kid and more often than not it is a grown up leading the pack.  Now when I walk I do face oncoming traffic, but be reasonable on this bike thing.  When walking I can easily step over it I need to while on a bike you can not.  You are in the lane of traffic and it is the equivalent of going the wrong way on a one way street!  There you are on your vulnerable little 2 wheels that probably weighs 15 pounds and here I am heading straight for you.  I know you are over on the other side of the white line, almost in the ditch, but I have no choice if you bobble just a little but to run over you.  Think you would like that?  So I can either swerve into oncoming traffic to miss you and kill myself, or I can stop and look at you like you are suicidal, which you are!

Now here is a link for you to read just in case you think I am dreaming this up.  Granted this link is to the California CDOT but last I knew they were part of the United States and under the auspices of  of the federal Department Of Transportation.  I know that you have reasoning powers so think about where you ride your bike logically. 

http://www.dmv.ca.gov/pubs/brochures/fast_facts/ffdl37.htm

When you are driving your car and you come on a slow moving vehicile you slow down.  Then you check oncoming traffic in the left lane.  If it is clear, you accelerate and move into the left lane to pass and then quickly back in to your lane.  But when a bike is coming towards you in your lane, it does not matter what is in the left lane.  You are left with no choices. 

I would not bring this subject up if it were not happening more often especially now that summer is here and more bikes are out.  I think I am going to make bike safety a priority.  I will first stop in the local cop shop and ask them if they could possible consider giving tickets to bicycleists who do not obey the rules.  I realize if I hit one of them I would not be held liable since they were clearly in the wrong, but there is that "morally responsible" thing to consider and I do so love to sleep at night with a fairly clear conscience.  I am afraid the vision of a body hurtling into my windshield would screw that up royally.

I had a grandson staying with me once who was a teenager and in college.  He rode his bike because that is what he had.  And he rode it on the wrong side of the road because "If someone is going to hit me I want to see them coming.!"  I explained to him that he would.  And he did.  He came home all scuffed up one evening.  Some guy pulled out from the stop sign and never even seen him.  Course not.  I am extra cautious, but not everyone is.  So the guy pulled out and Dameon bounced across his hood.  A second later and he would have been under his wheels; a second earlier and he would have broadsided him.  Did he learn anything?  I doubt it.  Grandma's are not real bright.

So this is my soap box for the day.  And this is your assignment for the day:  When you see someone riding a bicycle on the wrong side of the road, point it out to them that they are endangering not only themselves, but others.  They are setting an example for someone somewhere.  Oh and a little side note here, be diplomatic about it.  The finger gesture does not always convey your thoughts accurately!

 

 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  My Novel  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

From the back cover

Chapter One...Loose Ends
Lou Mercer

Meg Parker led a simple life.  She was a widow of three years and lived on a chicken farm at the foot of the mighty Rockie Mountains.  Life was good and her little store on eBay made her extra spending money.  But snow and wildlife were not the only things lurking in the forest above her house.  Nor did it stay in the forest for long.

Marshall Purcell came home a wounded veteran from vietnam.  He still had his dreams, but they were of an incestuous past that threatened to consume him.

When Meg and Marshall met it seemed an inconsequential meeting, but it changed both their lives forever.  And change is not always a good thing.

This is adult fiction at its best without all the sex.  Well, maybe just a little bit. 

About the author.  Lou Mercer was born in Nickerson, Kansas. She came to Pueblo, Colorado in 1977 and is now a product of the majestic Rockie Mountains

Nickerson, Kansas, or the good old days.

Well, another day and another class trying to learn something.  It is amazing to me that when I was young and learning stuff was free and easy, I was not interested in the whole concept.  And now, here I am 70 years old with my mind so full of stuff that I can not pick out one vital piece of information and I now want to cram some more stuff in there to clutter it up even  worse.  But I shall clutter, none the less.
Let me see, what else have I been up to?  Well, I have been trying to figure out how to write about my childhood in Nickerson, Kansas and I am getting confused.  If I just start at the beginning that is a pretty boring story.  So I have arrived at the concept of just giving you snippets of my younger days.  Like now, the story playing out in my head is the one where I got my first bicycle. 
The local grocery had a contest and whoever came in with the most labels won  their choice of either a 3 speed bicycle or a radio.  At the same time the IGA was having a contest, but their prize was a trip to St. Louis.  I knocked on doors, scavenged through trash barrels, begged in front of the store, and otherwise just made a nuisance of myself.
Well, when the contest ended and all the labels were counted, I had like 7,000 and the next kid had 300+.  He was very upset because he wanted that bike.  His dad owned the local newspaper and I was pretty sure that his dad had way more money then my mother who cleaned their house. 
Ah, that bike was a beauty!  It was a boys bike because I did not want to wait for them to order in a girls' bike.  It was maroon and some chrome and I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. And it had the little skinny tires and it was called an "English Racing Bike".  I very proudly pushed it all the way home.  I pushed it up on to the front porch and there it stayed.  Having never had a bicycle, I did not know how to ride.  The neighbor girls had bikes.  Little bicycles that I could actually step over the bar and set on the seat.  Irene agreed to give me "bike riding lessons".  Told me it was "easy as pie"!  Ever make a pie?  It is not that easy. 
So this is how this would happen;  I would get on the bike and she would hold on to the back fender and keep me in an upright postition.  Hell, that sounded like a genius idea to me.  The first short little bursts worked well.  Now she would let me go when she was sure I had my balance.  Brilliant!  Off we went and I quickly achieved "lift off", and down the road I went.  Course any fool knows what happened next.  Dead end road so it was either stop or turn the corner.  Unfortuneately we had discussed neither of thos option in advance.  I suddenly remembered something about pedaling backwards and so I reversed my direction.  Now I do not know if you have ever ridden a bike with that kind of brake, but I am here to tell you, when you suddenly reverse the foot pedals, you stop.  That is where that old saying "It can stop on a dime!" came from.  Of course when the bike stops so does the balance thing you had going on.  This was my first wreck.  Irene was very proud that I had gone almost half a block.  I was not real sure the other half of that block was left in me.
Of course in due time I learned to do it right.  And then my new bike was waiting for me.  It was taller then me and I needed to park by the step to climb on and take off.  Now I find my whole life has been lived this way.  I know how to start and I know how to get on, I just don't know how to end the ride!  I quickly learned to ride close to a hill, squeeze the brake and then lean toward the hill with my leg extended.  That was all in the first day!  Sadly though, the first day was about all there was to that.  Remember those little skinny tires I was so proud of the first day?  They do not stand up well against the dreaded Goat Head, which is a very sharp sticker.  I would pump the tires up and ride until they went flat.  The rides got shorter and I moved on to other things, like playing "Annie Over" Irene's house.
I think that was the name of the game.  She was on one side of the house and I was on the other.  Whoever had the ball would holler "Annie Over" and throw it over the house.  You got three tries to get it over and then we had to change sides.  If she missed, she got three chances.  The most amazing part of the whole thing was that there was a lot of honesty went on without us even knowing.  If we missed the ball, we called "miss" and if it did not go over the house we called "do over!"  I guess at that place in our lives we had not yet learned how to cheat and lie.  Of course we all picked that habit up as we got out in the real world, but something else I have noticed is that as I get older, I am reverting to my honesty days.  I do not find it necessary to embellish the truth any more.  I think part of that happened when I realized I better tell the truth because I was having a hard time remembering the lies.  Or maybe I am just returning to what is known as my "second childhood." 
Either way I am enjoying this part of life and as the prize gets closer I remember the good old days with a clarity I never had when I was there.
Wonder what I will think about tomorrow!

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Pick ME! Pick ME!

I would dearly love to blame this on some one else,  but I feel that in all honesty I must take full credit for this.  Granted I do have a lot on my mind here the past few days, but I would be remiss if I let this one go by unnoticed.  You will need all the facts.

I went to the doctor and had blood work done.  When it got back nursie dear (and you know who you are, don't you, Deb?) called to give me the  news that every thing is through the roof except my bank account.  Now granted, I was about to get around to starting to exercise pretty soon, but she informed me that I was way to late for that.  And she was most firm about it and now I know why they call her "Sarge".    So I commiserated with my buddy Tim and he gave me a tongue lashing.  "You have the treadmill all set up down stairs for crying out loud!  Just get on it and quit saying you do not have time!  Just do it!"

Well, the man is right.  So after he left I got to thinking.  I am good at multi tasking and this might work.  I had 3 seed catchers that just needed elastic in them and they would be ready to go.  So I clipped a bodkin on each end of the elastic and started it through the little opening.  That was going well and so I reached up and turned on the tread mill.  You know that safety device that hooks on your belt and if you fall it will turn the machine off?  Yeah, that inconveniently place little do hickey.  The seed catcher kept getting wrapped around that and shutting the tread mill down.  So I unhooked it from my waist and wrapped it around itself.  Then we started again, 

Well all was going real well at the slowest speed so I kicked it up a notch.  And I finished both sides of the first seed catcher.  Things were going so good I actually thought about calling Tim's wife and telling her how good I was doing at this multi tasking thing, but I decided to just finish the seed catchers first.  So I started number 2.  Then I kicked it up another notch.  I had been at this little job about 9 minutes when I dropped the bodkin.  Now what do we do when we drop something?  We pick it up.  Natural instinct dictates that.  Well, let me just tell you when I realized that was the wrong thing to do. 

It occured to me about the time my right leg hit the Oleandar tree and my left leg was sticking out of the Fig tree and my whole backside was being sanded by the sure grip coating on the treadmill which was now spinning freely at about 30 miles per hour.  That was also about the time I noticed my safety cord dangling harmlessly behind the speedometer.  As I drug my poor broken little body across the floor to jerk that loose I thanked my God in heaven and all his angels that I was alone and not being videotaped.

So here I am the next day.  I am not real sure that right leg isn't broken and it is a very funny color.  The left one is sore, but still intact.  My backside resembles chicken skin after it has been barbequed.  Some where in the melee I whacked my head on something and I am not sure I don't have a severe concussion, but for sure there is something loose up there.

So, the words of wisdom for today are this:  Leave that damn safety thing on your belt, do not try to multi task and for crying out loud if you drop something, just leave it alone.  I must confess that I could not get to sleep last night and I am not sure whether it was because of the bone poking through my skin or because I was laughing so hard at the sight that must have been!


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Do they still have country roads?

I remember when I was a little kid running the country roads back home.  We would start out early and decide to "go some place."  There was Vincent's Sand Pit.  Old and abandoned and I do not know how far from the house, but that did not matter.  I was always barefoot.  We got shoes in the fall when school started and we better not wear them out, lose them, or grow out of them or we finished the year barefooted.  That was fine by me, but the kids in town did rather turn their noses up at this litle ragamuffin.  But, I get the last laugh.  I am still setting here barefooted and damn glad of it.
Mama always went off early to clean some lady's house in town so we were pretty much on our own.  Course the really little kids were babysat by the lady up the street who charged 50 cents a day.  But us "big kids" were pretty much on our own.  Now that I think back, I do not remember eating.  I am sure we must have , but who knows what!  I am still here so I am sure we did eat.  Wish mama was here and I could ask her.

So there was my brother and I, the two Reinke girls, Jimmy Davis from in town, Margaret Ayers and her brother Hibbly.  That seems right.  Oh, and my older sister who was supposed to be the one with the brains.  Now, at the time it was great fun.  Running down a dusty, sandy road in the hot noon day sun to get to a muddy pond of water that we were not allowed to cross the fence to get near.  Besides that there were big, very mean cows in there guarding it.  Then we could turn around and run back home.

Home was fun.  One day Jake and I decided to dig us an underground hide out.  We dug and dug and finally had us a suitable tunnel about 10 feet long, two feet wide and three feet deep. We then placed the boards across it and piled the dirt back on top.  Oh, that was great when we crawled in there.  It was all cool and dark.  Dark.  I got my young self right back out of there because I am scared of the dark.

Near the tunnel and across the fence the neighbors had a big tree and under it was our "cemetary".  In the country there are a lot of natural deaths of birds and rabbits and as a tender hearted  young girl these deaths needed to be attended and a proper burial was always in order.  Hence the cemetary.  Now these same neighbors raised pigs.  Really big pigs.  Very mean pigs.  The house where the pig lives is called a sty.  A sty is a short house, like a peaked roof that sets on the ground.  And as normal kids we liked to play a game called "I dare you!"  Now Jake knew I was scared to death of those pigs but he liked to dare me to jump from one sty to the next all the way across the pig pens.  It was probably a 3-4 foot leap, which was not far at all, but there was always that chance of slipping and falling into the pig pen where I would be eaten by the pigs.  As I look back, that was not the best game to play.

When it was dark we could play "Kick the Can."  Seems like I was always "It."  I had to cover my eyes and count to 50 while they all went and hid.  Then I had to go find them.  If I did find one I took that person back to the "base" and put them in a make believe "jail".  Some one would run in when my back was turned and kick the can and there went my prisoner, in the event I had actually found someone hiding. 

Another favorite game was "clod fights" which is exactly what the name implied.  Some one would plow the field, usually dad, and leave it "turned over" before a "harrow" was drug across it.  At any given point in the whole process, the dirt would dry, leaving clods.  And the longer they laid there the harder they got.  Getting the picture?  We would throw the clods at each other.  The most fun always seemed to be getting hit in the eye with a clod.  That way mama gave full attention to the injured party and the one who did it was really going to get a "licking."  Remember when our parents could give us a licking and not get slapped with child abuse charges? 

Ah, the "good old days!"  I remember going to school, but I do not ever remember studying.  I remember going to church and the most wonderful part was having a birthday, because then we got that many pennies to drop in the "Birthday Can" while everyone counted and then sang "Happy Birthday" to me.

Why is it as we get older, the past looks so much better?  I could spend all my time back in those carefree days.  We ate Bacon and used cream that was so thick it stood in peaks.  We ate what ever landed on the table and had no idea what a calorie or fat grams or sodium or any of that stuff was.  And I never weighed over 100 pounds until I was pregnant with my first baby.

I miss my mama.

I been doing it wrong all this time!

I was tooling down South Road the other day and I came across 4 people on bicycles.  I was luckily in my  little car so I did not embarrass myself.  This is when I discovered just what it is I am doing wrong.

When I ride I just hop on this old balloon tire bike with no gears and away I go.  I wear what ever I happen to have on at the time.  Usually wear tennis shoes, but only cause that is what I wear.

I need to get me one of those skinny tired bikes with a bunch of gears up there and the brakes on the handlebars.  On mine I just pedal backwards and I stop right now!  Not later on down the road, right where I pushed backwards is where I will be when you find me cause the sudden stop sometimes unseats me.

And I need to get me some stretchy clothes.  Little shorts that come about mid thigh or whatever that bone is there between my knee and my bottom.  And a stretchy top.  Oh, yeah and some little gloves and a helmet and some sort of goggles.  Some sturdy shoes that are small.  Now I was going pretty good clip when I shot past  those people, but I think I got it in my mind's eye.  So I am going to go look at bikes this weekend.  It has got to be purple though.

And while I am there looking I shall check out the stretchy clothes.  I have always wished I had stretchy clothes.  Sure would solve that diet business I keep thinking about.

Now the biggest problem I have is finding friends.  Got plenty of them that want to hang out, go to lunch, stop by for coffee, but very few that I can talk into actually riding a bike or even going for a long walk.  They will come for supper, but leave before the dishes are done.  And if I did have a friend that would ride with me, the talking would have to wait.  I like to just kind of pedal along and look at the sky and the flowers and hope a dog don't chase me.  I do not have stamina enough to ride and talk both.  I usually have my headphones on and will probably get run over some day.  In that case a friend would be handy to call 911 assuming I am dead.

So there you have it.  And my solution is this.  I think I am going to get a new tire and tube for this bike.  Squirt a little more WD40 on the pedal thing and there where the tires turn.  Save my friends for later.  Shorts and tees I have now will get me by another year.  And these green, pink, and grey shoes are just getting broken in good.

Well, I tried to come into this century, I am just too tight!

Time to dig out the bike and dust it off for Spring!

Well, Spring is going to be here pretty quick and I want to be ready!  Here is the bike and it is going to get ridden just pretty soon.  I keep thinking I am going to get a new bike and I almost did.  I found a really pretty Lavender one at Target for only $104.00, but you know how it goes.  This bike has lots of memories and if it could talk it might get me in a bit of trouble!  Look at that seat!  Isn't that pretty?

This bike came off the neighbors junk pile and it used to be blue and rust.  I mean real rust, not the color.  So, Tim pulled it off the pile and brought it over to my garage.  Then began the transformation.  He took it all apart and made sure everything was there.  Tires were all right, but the tubes were shot.  New tubes, oil the chain, sand the frame and then came the best part, he and Chris painted it Lavender!  I had Goop! for the tubes.   So off to the store to buy the new seat.  That is called a tractor seat, in case you wonder.  The handle bars are some sort of ram's horn.  Total cost to get her road worthy was $26.99. 

You do realize this is a balloon tire bike and has no gears and to stop I pedal backwards.  I never could figure out the gears on those other things and the concept of squeezing the handle bar to stop was totally foreign to this girl!  I have another balloon tire hanging up in the garage that is a complete hoot to ride.  It is a boys bike and bigger than this one, but I did ride it some several years back. OMG!  Ryan, the grandson was probably 10 years old then which would have made it more like 15 years ago.  He damn near got me killed on that thing.  I know he is reading this, so I am going to let you be the judge here.

This thing had Ape Hanger Handle bars which are wonderful to hang onto and ride.  However, it also had knobby tires for God only knows what reason.  Course Ryan had his little bike he jumps with which I forget what they are called. But off we went over to the highway where there was a Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Going to eat a  little lunch and ride back, cause that is what grandma's and grand kids do...eat.  We stayed on the sidewalk where there was sidewalk.  A small section of the sidewalk was gone, so I, being the cautious one, dismounted and walked it around the 7 inch drop.  Of course, during lunch I was chided for this.

"Grandma!  It is a tiny drop and you can do it.  Just get your speed up and pull back on the handle bars and you will be fine.  You can do it, I know you can."  Ah, sometimes old ladies hear a different drummer and it all seems to make a lot of sense.  He was a kid and he could do it; sure I could do it!  I would make him proud!

Did you ever read Casey at the Bat?  That flashed through my mind as I pulled back on the handle bars.  As that knobby tire caught on the edge, I heard the swish of the bat, and as I landed on Highway 50 East with the Ape Hanger Handle Bar implanted firmly in my ribs, I realized, "There is no joy in Mudville, mighty Casey has struck out!" 

Now, Ryan, I know you remember this a little different, but I am proud to say, you will always remember this Grandma with a laugh.  Right?  I will remember you as the grandson who tried to kill me.  But even as I write this, I can see your little face bending over me.  I can see your eyes and I had no idea you could open them that far!  But what I will always remember is what you told your mother, between your gales of laughter!  "Oh, mom, you should have seen it!  Grandma was like in slow motion.......over, over, over....SPLAT!" 

Now, I know you ride a little bit different bike, one called a HOG and I mostly try to stay on the edge of the road and try not to get hit by a car, but surely we still have something in common.  Hey, come pick me up and we will go cruising!  Or maybe I will just make you some cookies since that is what grandma's are supposed to do!

Now be sure you vote in the poll up there on the left.  Got a bet going on this one!

Hey! Look at my purple bike!!

Look at that bike!!  That is my bike and I can ride it everywhere!  We pulled this out of the scrap pile and Tim fixed it all up for me.  He and his son, Chris, painted it purple and lavender.  Then he bought the tractor seat with white flowers for me.  No offense here, but I can not set on one of those little 3 inch seats!  That is more pain than this old lady wants.

Now, yesterday I hopped on this trusty steed and rode up to the produce stand, which is about a mile uphill.  I bought some goodies and started home only to find that the return trip was also uphill.  What the hey!  I did not know it was possible to be uphill both ways, but there it was!! No one was more amazed then me on that one!!

Last night we had our humble supper and then watched the new Cheech and Chong documentary  that is preceeding their Light Up America Tour.  I understand that this tour is promoting the legalization of marijuana. Better them than me!

Now how I made the leap from my pretty purple bike to legalization of pot is more than even I can understand, but there you have it...the workings of Lou Mercer's mind in action!  God be with us all!