Welcome to The Human Ride.

Because we're all in this together,
this blog is an ongoing chronicle of what it means to be human,
with a focus on what it means to be human ... cyclists.
The good. The bad. The ugly.
The joy of a ride on a lonely country road.
The pain of a cyclocross race.
The rage that comes from dealing with aggressive drivers.
The appreciation of a fine piece of cycling artistry.
And anything else that comes as a result of loving bikes
and living.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Eye wunce rote a pome.

A few years ago I got stung repeatedly by a hornet while on a ride (That's what the sucker looked like).

I wrote a poem about it.

Curse Thee, O Hornet, For Thy Multiple-sting Ability.

A true story by Luis Gonzalez

J-R-A on F-M Twenty-nine Seventy-eight,*

One wandering hornet and I (it was fate),

Met head on – a collision a cyclist would dread

Had it meant just one sting on the top of the head.

But for me it was different, I noticed too soon,

As the wasp it stung twice at the neck of this goon.

As I swerved off the road in a panicky squirm,

My jersey I flung off in haste to confirm

That the insect had left my Lycra and fled

To attack the next poor and unsuspecting Fred.

But alas, five miles later, I learned, yelling, “F–ck!”

That under my base layer the bugger had snuck!

Three more times he nailed me right under the pit.

So I pinched on the cloth to squash the little sh–t.

He stabbed my gloved thumb – that’s three layers, folks.

The bastard was up to no good – and no jokes –

As he crawled to, and stung me, on my manly chest,

As if saying, “How’s that, for a flying yellow pest?”

By now I was writhing in panic and pain,

Tearing off all my clothing in careless disdain.

But, too late, as my bib shorts apparently made

One last layer for Vespa crabro to invade,

And administer the eighth and terminal sting

To the base of my… umm, you know, my, umm… my thing.

Crushed in defeat, even more, humiliation,

I reached to release him in blind desperation.

But the creature flew off with the wind, not to linger,

As I noticed his tiny upright middle finger.

*Just Riding Along on FM (Farm-to-Market road) 2978

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