A redneck Perspective: Bikes, bullets and over-inflated egos

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

By Clyde Thornhill

Susie, my hip Shades girl, invited me to go biking with her. Tragically, I had wrecked my dirt bike while involved in a motorized chiseler hunt up the Gros Ventre. More people break trucks, bones and relationships while chiseler hunting than any other sport. It is truly the outdoor challenge of this era.

Susie told me she had a spare bike I could use. “Great,” I told her and immediately began fantasizing about a classic Harley Fat Boy chopped out with chrome, 147 cubic inches of power, speed and thunder!

We met in Smith’s parking lot the next morning. The first thing I noticed was there was no motor on the bike. I pointed out the lack of internal combustion to Susie, who informed me, “We’re riding bicycles. Won’t it be fun!”

I hadn’t ridden a bicycle since I bought my first truck, when I was 12. I had seen lots of people riding bicycles the past couple of years. I assumed they had all gotten a DUI and needed alternative transportation. I struggled with the idea of peddling a bike for fun. I fear the concept was lost on me.

Susie said. “Tom and John from Rad Cycle will be joining us.”
“How come?” I complained.

“You can’t ride four abreast with two, silly.” she told me.

Soon two Suburbans pulled into the parking lot, each with a bicycle strapped to the back. Tom and John wore those stupid black shorts bikers like and each wore a bright orange shirt covered with enough logos and patches to make a NASCAR driver blush.
I headed for the bike path, when John yelled, “We’re riding on the road.”
“Why?” I asked. The bike path ran along side of the road, and motorists could still see his bright shirt and know he was cool.

“It’s our right,” he told me.

We rode up High School Road, four abreast, and forced a car to swerve around us. Tom flipped him off and cussed at him. I looked at Tom with a new sense of understanding. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. We headed toward Teton Village swerving in and out of traffic, ignoring stop signs and traffic lights. We took up an entire lane and caused traffic to back up. Tom and John viciously condemned anyone who passed us closer than five feet.

I was humbled. I have no money, no position of power, no trust fund. My overdeveloped sense of self-importance is all that allows me to hold my head high in the bagel shop. However, after one bike ride, my finely honed and deftly displayed arrogance seemed almost quaint and old-fashioned. When it comes to inflated self-esteem, bike riders make even the most dedicated redneck seem a bumbling amateur. How could I recapture my sense of worth? I sure as hell wasn’t going to be a bike rider if I had to wear a pair of those black shorts. Then I had an idea.

When we got back to Smith’s, I pulled my chiseler gun out from behind the seat, bolted a shell in the chamber, took the safety off, and slid it in my gun rack. Tom looked at me nervously. “Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked.

 I smiled, and my ego expanded visibly. “It’s my right,” I told him.
PERMALINK:
A redneck Perspective: Bikes, bullets and over-inflated egos | Planet JH News Article: General Worm Hole

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