ANOTHER WYANDOTTE BIKE STORY, YAY!

Wyandotte is fun. Fun, slightly decrepit and a bit strange, but also jam packed with every kind of person and seemingly unnecessary yet still open little business/store/bodega/weird church of mountain and fire imaginable. Busy with traffic and pedestrians, but still wide and smooth enough to bike fairly safely down during midday action. However, one thing I do not find Wyandotte to be is the least bit intimidating or for lack of a better word (other than intimidating) - unsafe? No matter how many down and out, out-of-work, thug-like, tough-looking tweakers and/or random Wyandotte people I run into, I'm chillin'. Chillin' on my woman's baby blue cruiser heading due east and down wind, without a care in the world (or a job, or a definite plan for the future, nor a firm grip on Canadian politics). I'm not bothered by the toothless and haggard looking old man with the dirty white beard picking up butts off the ground and talking to himself. (At least he's not talking to me), or the half-empty cube vans and destination-less commuters rumbling around corners and out of side streets. (You know, the pair of zoned-out looking 40 somethings cruising in their Dodge Shadows, who are either looking for drugs/prostitutes/the casino/trouble or a decent breakfast place) Like I said, these abnormalities are becoming normal to me, perhaps I'm even blending in more than I thought I would with the Wyandotte Wonder-Darlings, as I attempt to understand their habits, actions and ways of thinking - or just plain watch them and think of subsequent nonsensical things as I cruise by. But, not everything about my trip down Paradise Lane is a thing of paradise. I do have a problem with some of the people I encounter along the way. For instance, if you're looking intently at me and I nod or say hello to you, but you continue looking at me intently and silently as we pass by each other - I feel like a fool for nodding or talking to you and I no longer feel like nodding or talking to anyone else. This might bother me for about 10 seconds or until I start (or am forced by what I see or hear) to think about something else entirely. However, even if you are a total degenerate trash hooker/and or a classic drunk stumbling down the road and you smile nicely at me (without talking may I add) I will smile back and feel fine about it - even if you are trying to get a dirty five bucks out of me. Today was an interesting little 20 km round-trip tour, one complete with an almost near death experience involving me, an unseen pedestrian in the way, a piece of steel suspended from a dangling cable hanging precariously from a streetlight - and little sidewalk room. (I should have been riding on the road, but, on some parts of the ride, I'd rather not) It also began with the the road side witnessing of some serious bumper to bumper road rage (blue Taurus vs. red Viper) and ended with head-on hurricane-like winds that whipped violently around buildings and down sidewalks - which felt like an invisible yet full body smack from a giant palm to this over matched casual cyclist. All things aside, the first leg of the journey was quite pleasant. (As were the state of my legs, so it turned out) Pleasant, sunny, warm and wind-stricken. However, because the gusts were barrelling down my back like a friendly yet hard push down a mountain, I barely even had to pedal - let alone steer. Well, yeah I still had to steer, but not as much as usual probably. Maybe it was the same amount of steering. But I definitely pedaled less, because I asked my legs after and, though they didn't respond in any distinguishable or audible language, they weren't burning as much as usual, so, according to my senses - I pedaled less.