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Journals
of an Insane Genius -- December 1996
There is something in a man's eyes as he returns from the
battlefield for the first time that makes you realize he has been
forever changed. Later that evening, as I gazed into the mirror
reflecting on the outcome of my ill-fated bicycle ride, I
realized that my eyes will also carry that haunting, penetrating
aura that most people associate with an urgent need to use the
toilet but actually signifies a life-altering experience.
Knowing that it was now impossible to regain control of the
renegade bicycle, I decided to use the 38.7 milliseconds
remaining before impact to decide upon a strategy to minimize
damage. During the first 6.25 milliseconds I utilized my superior
mental abilities to recall the elementary physics equation that
tells us that kinetic energy is equal to one half of the mass of
an object times the square of it's velocity. I burned another 1.2
milliseconds realizing that significantly reducing my body mass
by adhering to a strict regimen of diet and calisthenics during
the remaining 31.23 milliseconds before impact would have
negligible results. Damn! No help there, the answer depended on
decreasing the velocity at which I travelled.
The Brake!!! That holy grail of friction. I immediately jammed on
the handbrake with all of my might. With the cords and tendons of
my muscles standing out in stark contrast I realized that by
neglecting to factor in the increased torque caused by jamming on
the brakes with the handlebars so far out of alignment I had now
cut my remaining time to impact in half, and introduced a
pronounced tendency to fly over the handlebars as well.
With only 15.615 milliseconds remaining before impact, a lesser
man would have thought only of himself. I continued to struggle
with the controls until I was able to aim the out of control
bicycle away from any populated areas to reduce the risk of
injuring any innocent civilians. Only when I had done all that
was humanly possible to reduce collateral damage did I bail out
of the doomed bicycle.
Surprisingly, my final thought before impact had to do with
figuring out just what a burger "with grown up taste"
would taste like. I decided it must be topped with blue cheese,
olives, caviar, escargot, tequila, and served on whole grain
bread by a Republican.
I was distracted from this important meditation by the skin of my
left hand being scraped away layer by layer on the unforgiving
asphalt. Fortunately, the pain from the laceration appearing on
my left knee kept me from dwelling too much on my hand.
I was bruised and bloody. The bicycle lay in a heap on the
shoulder of Highway 90. As I gazed into the panoramic Arizona
sunset I ran my fingers through my golden locks and sighed. I
would live to ride another day.