The Giant Shock and Other Tales of Bicycular Mutilation...With paragraphs. (300 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1 on 5 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Crazy Hat Lady (View user info) at 2005-08-26 04:42:54 EDT
Though The University of Oklahoma has allotted many bike-only lanes, including, but not limited to: the entire west side of the South Oval, bicyclists choose to ride amidst the cars in the streets, and more prevalently, around people on the sidewalks (I don't exactly know how fast bicycles can go, but as a side note, there should definitely be some sort of enforced speed limit when passing pedestrians). This sort of reckless race to class often results in one of two ways: injury to self, or injury to the bicycle. Its like gambling, having a bicycle on campus. You either lose, or you go home broke.
Like the majority of college students, I have had my fair share of close calls with bicycles, their owners, and various flying parts; however, there are definitely a few incidences which stand out in my mind as almost-darwinistic events. One such event occurred about three weeks ago, near the crosswalk on the west end of the South Oval.
I was in a scramble for time, dodging blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, and the like, in an effort to get to Logic on time. I am neither a bicycle owner, nor a fan of reflective clothing, thus, I am always in the path of others as they speed past on their two wheels of doom. As I rounded Cate Center and began my sprint for the crosswalk, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bicyclist approaching at about the same pace. Aware of Pedestrian favoring laws, I was not concerned about a collision. In fact, I was much more concerned about the recent change of the crosswalk sign from a white pedestrian, to an orange hand (which I am also confused about the use of symbols on a college campus full of people who had to be literate enough to pass the ACT).
However, as the bicycle came within about three feet, in an act of God striking down the obstacles, the tire collapsed and I watched the bicyclist fall to the ground in a combination of steel, plastic handle bars, and scraped flesh. It was a sort of slow-motion pas de deux between the owner and the rebellious (and generally inanimate) vehicle, tumbling both to the left, and onto the unkind pavement.
As soon as the passenger hit the cement, his eyes darted up from scraped knees and scanned the area to see if anyone had seen his clamorous fall. When he realized that bypassing pedestrians had noticed enough to stop in their commute, the look of pain left his face and was quickly replaced by a confident facade, with a hint of embarrassment lurking behind. I offered him a hand.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"Yeah, yeah, stupid tire blew ---- not a big deal..." He responded nonchalantly.
Though he attempted to play it off, it takes a better actor than most to behave as though he didn't just collide with himself on a bicycle.
After he left, wheeling his bicycle to the rack outside the nearest hall, I tripped on the sidewalk. It wasn't a big fall, just a personal collision with the pavement. A girl I didn't know turned and asked if I was alright, and I laughed in an attempt to make light of the situation. She smiled. Maybe she understood. Maybe she had tripped before on steps much like the one that had taken me and my pride down with it. I suppose I'll never know. But it was good to laugh.
Sometimes, to amuse myself, I walk near to the bicycle racks, and look for deformities in other bicycles. There are always quite a few. I don't exactly know how they get that way, or how long they have been left there in that dying position, but I do know that there will always be broken bicycles. Its like clock work, you can count on it.
In addition to broken bicycles, there will always be the paranoid owners who take the handle bars or bicycle seat with them to class, and leave the naked, metal body of the dismembered bicycle locked to a rack hidden behind the building. Part of me wants to blame Housing and Food Services for the philosophy that a bike chain, combination lock, and a pair of prison-quality hand cuffs will not keep bike theft from happening to you. But still, when I see these manually decomposed and torn apart bicycles, I think, who carries a screw driver to class? Better yet, who has the time to take apart a bicycle and then reassemble it between classes? I would have to say that I am much more afraid of the people who could disassemble my hypothetical bicycle in ten minutes flat than those who carry a sharp pair of plyers. However, regardless of how they get there, eventually all bicycles will become bent and tangled inside the university provided bike racks. It's part of University culture, and it's part of who we are.
On a rushed Wednesday morning, on my way out of English, I realized that it was 12:15pm, and I had neglected to ingest any food that day. Thus, on my way back from class I devised a plan which involved running to get food at Cate Center before Logic, allowing me to appease the gnawing hunger, and be counted present in class. Since attending OU, I have acquired a sort of quickened, hunched-back walking pace which gets me to each class about thirty seconds late (however, if I opt to walk amidst the cars, I shave about ten seconds off my time). I was continuing in my tortoise-style marathon, when I passed a dark-haired male student pulling a twisted bicycle from what should have been its final resting place, the bicycle rack outside Dale Hall. As he maneuvered the broken wheel out of the bicycle gallows, my pace slowed. The student continued to struggle in a sort of man vs. metal wrestling match making various sounds of which I could not begin to spell, let alone understand. I stopped.
A group of what appeared to be his friends (however, I must note that I use the term friends loosely) began to surround the dark haired steel surgeon performing his public bicycle extraction. They began to cheer and jeer at him, causing a commotion and a crowd to gather. As the wheel finally escaped almost certain doom, it became apparent to the male student, his friends, the crowd, and myself, that the front bicycle wheel was much more bent than it appeared to be while chained to the rack. Somehow, the owner of this broken college vehicle, had managed to bend the front wheel, spokes, and tire at a ninety degree angle.
He stared at the bicycle, attempting to hold it upright Hoping for more laughter, I suppose. For the same reasons, he then mounted the bicycle. The crowd broke out into hysterical laughter.
This bicycle was leaning at about a fifty degree angle downward, almost launching the passenger up and over the black handle bars at each mount. In the rear, a full tire supported the majority of the bicycle. This was also accented by the bicyclist's compensatory posture, leaning back so as to not put any more pressure on the broken wheel at the head of the cycle. As my gaze shifted to the front tire, I noticed that the crumpled spokes and bent wheel hardly resembled parts of a bicycle anymore, and that the tire was not only deflated, but scrunched up like eighties slouch-socks, covering the creases of the bent wheel.
In an effort to continually amuse the crowds, the owner of this twisted bicycle raised his right foot to the pedal. He lifted his left foot and pushed. The mid-air-split-second struggle against the non-circular wheel ended in a topple sideways. He pushed once again. He fell sideways, this time catching himself with his left foot. Once again, he pushed off. Another pavement collision ensued.
By this time, the crowd was laughing hysterically.
"Its like a giant shock!" He said, pulling up with the handle bars and peddling, in a sort-of, self-made unicycle motion. He gained a few inches.
After about five more minutes, and a foot of gain, the crowd grew weary of his cyclical anecdotes, and continued on their ways to class. I watched his amusement with the bicycle's deformity fade into a sort of frustration with the entire situation. Yet, he continued his attempt to ride the bicycle. He would yank the handle bars and peddle as fast as possible before he lost his balance and the front of the bicycle came crashing back down to the pavement. He continued to peddle.
As it got later in the break between classes, the people began to utter words of sympathy, rather than laughter in passing.
"Man, that really sucks..." One girl had added, "How did that happen?"
"Punk kids." He had replied.
Afterward, struck with the task of getting the bicycle back somewhere, he lowered his head. I suppose after the crowd had dissipated, the giant shock finally lost its shock value. At that point, I had to get to class. Thus, I left him, sulking and struggling against the bent wheel that had long lost its comic value. Somehow, between the humor and reality of the situation, he had become embarrassed.
What is it about a good laugh that changes perspectives? How could a situation based on vandalism and pure bad luck become something that would make us smile? A related study based on this question found that post-operative patients in hospitals who have been party to daily humorous discussion were discharged an average 2.6 days earlier than those who were not. Humor, in those cases, not only brightened spirits for the few seconds after a witty comment, but changed the way the body dealt with trauma in a much more time efficient way.
Also, laughter is one of the few properties of life that is purely social. The best test of this theory is to ask yourself, "Do I laugh at the television when I am alone?" Generally speaking, we don't. Humans laugh out loud with others, and when they do, they convey their enjoyment of the intelligence and wit, companionship, friendship and love shared with one another. It is a beautiful part of being human, and it's good for our souls.
User Reviews
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-08-26 13:30:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I laughed at this and I am alone. Does that mean I'm not human?
Submitted by sideshow (user info) at 2005-08-26 12:36:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Bike crashes suck. At least you make other people's day when you have a sick wipeout, with blood and carnage.
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2005-08-26 06:09:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by ajanssen (user info) at 2005-08-26 05:24:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I would like to give you a higher rating but being a Longhorns fan you are my bitter rival. Cant spell cocksucker without OU. Do you ever make the Red River Shootout or party in the West End before hand?
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-08-26 05:14:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's just a release of anxiety/emotion. In turn that relaxes you and puts you in a more restful state, i.e. the body is not geared up for action as it is when under stress. Ergo, when you are calm you recover faster. The same effect can be gained through meditation or sedation.