comm on

There are some people who - either due to complete drug burn-out or just plain genetic unluckiness - simply lack common sense. If said people are semi-attractive, it can almost be labeled "adorable." Like how they might think that a Band-Aid will be sufficient for a gaping wound. With the right bone structure, that's kind of cute.
But after any kind of prolonged exposure to those kind of people, it just gets sort of annoying. You can't blame them, but the truth of the matter is, when I accidentally stab myself, I'm not going to need a Band-Aid. I'm going to need some fucking stitches.
And sadly, that's exactly what Boston can be like.

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Freezing New England winters mean asphalt that cracks and forms waves; and when I finally manage to muster up the energy to call the Department of Public Works on it, they usually just smack a patch on the offending hole. A month later, that hole will be back, and then it'll increasingly get bigger until someone else decides to call the city. And they'll just smack another Band-Aid on it.
It makes for interesting rides. But apparently enough [rich] people got together and decided that they probably didn't want to be held liable for running me over after my front wheel fell into some gaping crater. So they're repaving the entire length of the Comm Ave service lane from Boston College to Newton.

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Which is sweet, really. But did they have to turn Comm Ave into some kind of urban 'cross course where "road rash" will take on a much bloodier meaning?
Granted, they didn't dig up the asphalt and then leave it that way for the next four months as might be expected. In fact, they're making good time, considering the constant traffic. That doesn't mean it's not killing my cleats, though [yes, I'm too much of a pussy to ride on that, even with a 'cross frame]. In road shoes, I'm jogging through grass and over pavement that resembles a cheese grater.

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It's not that I'm scared of falling on my face [well, okay, I'd prefer to avoid it], but I haven't wiped out in a while, so I'm probably due for a epidermic disaster soon. And quite frankly, I don't want to risk losing half of my leg on Comm Ave and then having to gimp/pedal the rest of the way to school and then sit through class, bleeding, because I've done it before and it sucks. Seriously. I'm not even kidding.
So in an attempt to avoid said death traps, I'll be taking Beacon to school for the next few weeks. Of course, with my luck, I'll probably end up double-flatting, then skidding down that hill on Beacon on my face tomorrow.
Sigh. C'est la vie.
[Also, thank goodness it's Rapha Scarf Friday. Helloooooo weekend!]

beacons of light

Everyone's heard of the old person that got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk, fell down some stairs, and croaked.
I feel like I'm dangerously close to actually being that person. Except I'm not old [in the relative scheme of things] and this is all going to happen on a bike.

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Because while it's only the second week of school, last night I found myself half groping through my usual commute, squinting in the dark as if that's going to somehow fix my 0/0 vision. It didn't, obviously, but feet fueled by hunger bordering on starvation and getting crowded out of the lane by impatient cars, it did help that I knew my route well.

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Newton likes to keep things dark, but even along Comm Ave - which actually has functioning street lights - the shadows of trees like to hide all the sneaky potholes that are just deep enough to fall into. My trusty Knog light kept the more attentive drivers at bay but I'd still need one of those intense headlights [the kind you actually strap around your head] to actually illuminate the street.
Because I'm as blind as a bat. The only thing keeping me from eating shit on the way home was the fact that I knew what to avoid and where. But cutting across the Boston College undergrad campus, and hopping onto Beacon, I discovered something new.

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A bike lane...! Marked off on both sides of the street in bold white lines that I could see even without the aid of sunlight. And while I know the bumps and cracks on that stretch of road nearly by heart, it's reassuring to know that a couple feet of asphalt have officially been sectioned off for my personal use.
Of course, this has the potential to put me right back into that dangerous old-person-dying-in-her-house scenario. Because the whole assumption behind that is that you know your house well enough to get around with no lights on. But of course you're wrong and you end up paying the consequences. Which sucks when you have to die for it.
Maybe I'll stick to taking my chances on Comm Ave...