MOCKING GERMAN NO LONGER DOUBTED
There was some discussion on the BIKE ME! forums that week on what people do to stop getting bored on rides. There were those who worried about what would fall off their motorcycle, and those who did calculations about their trip, and those who solved deep problems, and those who sang.
I don’t generally get bored. Even on motorways, I do aggressive blind spot management, and am constantly changing lanes and positions so people don’t accidentally run over me. So far it has worked. I told Tony the Kraut about this, and he said he does aggressive blind spot management and is constantly changing lanes and positions so he doesn’t get eaten by Papuans, and so far it has worked.
No, I don’t know what he was getting at either, so I went for a ride to test these recommendations.
I tried worrying about what would fall off my motorcycle, but I was on my Honda, and nothing falls off it unless I bolt an Italian rack to it, as sober readers may recall from a previous column. Typing “vaffanculo” into the search box on this page would probably find it.
I tried doing calculations about my trip, too, but I was on a standard run westward, and I had a GPS, and I knew my average speed and my arrival time and fuel consumption and range and stuff.
I tried solving deep problems. I had the Middle East sorted by the beginning of the M7. It was a creative solution, a little like Edward de Bono’s, but involved less Marmite and more high explosive.
I decided I would sing. I remembered asking Suel, who ran the Turkish restaurant near my old place, what the song on the restaurant stereo was about. “My friend”, he said, “It is about LOVE. All Turkish songs are about love.”
I decided I would sing song about love. “So much for your journey of self-discovery” I warbled inside my AGV as I passed the Sikh temple near Parklea.
“You had to cut it short, forgot your credit card
The decree nisi came through this morning
And I just called to say
I’m gonna feed our children non-organic food
I’m gonna feed our children non-organic food
I’m gonna feed our children non-organic food
And with the money saved take ‘em to the zoo.”
I’d finished Totnes Bickering Fair by the time I got to the Richmond Road. A mysterious clown looked at me as I made the turn. My blind spot management had been sub standard. I changed the subject, and sang the blues on the way to Richmond.
“You look so pretty in it, honey can I jump on it some time?
I just wanna see if it’s that expensive kind
You know it balances on your head just like a mattress balances on a bottle of wine.”
I’d finished Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat by the time I got to the Windsor turnoff. A mysterious fat man looked at me from the passenger seat of a Prado, and then pretended to be looking at something else.
I tried a bit of rap while trickling through Richmond
“S to the I to the M to the P!
Who you got back home watering your plants?
S-I-M-P, squirrels in my pants!
How can I qualify for government grants?
S-I-M-P, squirrels in my pants!
Hypnotize me, put me in a trance
S-I-M-P, squirrels in my pants!
Got an aunt Florence livin’ in France
She can’t see the squirrels in my pants!”
A mysterious Papuan stared at me long and hard as I waited at the lights in North Richmond.
Screw this, I thought. This is too weird. I went back to aggressive blind spot management.
The remainder of my trip was uneventful.
About the Author
Al Al does a bit of everything, and likes hanging around with Boris, because there are generally motorcycles and whiskey, and because hilarity generally ensues. He wastes his spare time not moderating the BIKE ME! forums, where he posts occasionally and is regarded as unfair, unbalanced and unmedicated. Shows how much THEY know.
