WEEKLY RANT #1

WEEKLY RANT #1

Richard Cunningham

I wander, I love, I ride. I think about dirt and tires and bikes into the night. I ride. Let me be. Let me live. Let me ride. Richard C....one late night, looking at the moon.I am not entirely fond of Instant Messages because they freeze up my word processing function until I respond to the prompts in the little blue box. I am a stream-of-consciousness typist, and AOL’s glitch causes me to lose a word or two before I realize the note is on my screen.
“Hi. It was from Alice. Are you there?”
“What’s on your mind?” I responded, as if you could send an instant message to someone who wasn’t on line. I continued typing captions for the upcoming issue of MBA while keeping an eye on the upper left corner of my iMac for Alice’s response.
“Who makes studded tires?”
“Nokian and IRC make em,” I typed. “Where do you live?”
“Mass.” was the reply. “Do you have their phone numbers?”
“Nokian has a web site, and I’m pretty sure that IRC does too. Give me a minute or so to find the phone numbers.” I mentioned I had been on the Weather Channel site that morning and saw that the entire Northeast had been locked in a deep freeze for two weeks. It would be tough to drive a car, much less ride a mountain bike.
“That’s why I need spiked tires. Its slippery everywhere.” Alice replied.
“Are you still riding your bike this winter?” I typed. “It’s gotta be ten below these days.”
“Twice a week.” Alice typed, “My friends say I am crazy.”
I searched through the MBA database for Nokians and IRCs A- and E-dresses, then typed the information into the blue box. I added: “Are you a racer or a trail rider?”
“I race the junior class XC.”
“How old are you, Alice, if you dont mind me asking?” I replied, surprised to discover that my keyboard pal was so young.
“Twelve.”
“That’s huge!” I typed, “No wonder your friends think you’re loony. Most 12- year-olds in the Northeast are probably punching the buttons on their PlayStations in their living rooms while you’re out there on your bike!”
“Yes. The guys I ride with are older than me.”
“Alice, I’m outta here.” I had to get back to my captions. “Send me a picture and a bio–Ill keep an eye out for you at the races.”
As I clicked off the Instant Message Box, Mickey (my right-hand-man), peered over my shoulder and said, “Those messages are a hassle. You spent a long time with that one. Who was it?”
The future of racing. I smiled.

 

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