During my horrid ride of Saturday, I found out whose ghost bike it is that's placed in Kenmore. The cyclist who died was 70-year old Gordon Gray.
The detective on the case determined Gray failed to stop at a stop sign right before the crash.
While I don't know if that's true or not, it's a miracle no one else has died or gotten seriously maimed in that particular area. I have yet to see a single bicyclist stop by at the stop signs in Kenmore (unfortunately myself included), the cars do and don't, and don't even get me started on the low-flying pelotons. I'm sure being a member of a group has its advantages but from the outside it's still hella annoying. The groups I encounter on my rides are rude as hell - meaning they ride four abreast, taking the entire trail, not moving when I come along, and they don't say anything when they pass me with less clearance than the asshats driving cars.
Did I mention I detest pelotons? Not saying there might be great and very polite groups that consist of gentlemen whose mothers taught them manners, but I have yet to encounter one.
|Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a peloton!|
Most of the time I don't think about this, but from time to time it hits me how much work it is to be a grown up. Work is work, responsibilities are work, relationships are work, kids are work, and even relaxing is work. I can't spend too much time thinking about this and ultimately question the meaning of life, because I'll most likely go bonkers like most of the famous philosophers did. One just can't start thinking about how a table isn't really a table or whether the shadows on the cave wall is what's real or not and expect to remain sane. Seems like most of my life is spent forging on these days and I don't like it so something's gotta give. Just to clarify - I am not unhappy just restless. Perhaps it's an early midlife crisis of sorts.
|To stop or not to stop, that is the question.|