You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it. Robin Williams

Location: Kentucky, United States

Saturday, May 31, 2003

Doesn't that just get your...

A whole lotta yard work went on today. We redid the front walk: new ground cover, new rock, fixed the yard timbers. I scraped down the picnic table and Beverle painted it. We weeded out the flowerbed in the back yard and planted four rose bushes. I taught Zack how to use the weed eater.

A stray Beagle-mix dog showed up, if she behaves, we intend to keep her. She is very skittish, and may have been mistreated. She was starving and went through a pack and a half of hotdogs without taking a breath. The jury’s still out, we have never had great luck with dogs. I already know she is a car chaser, which makes for a very short lifespan on small country roads. We shall see.

Once the wind stopped blowing, I went for a thirteen-mile bike ride. This was on the hilly course. I was very slow. Near the end of the route is a short but extremely steep hill. I have hit over sixty miles per hour on this hill, fifty without even trying. I had cleared the crest and was starting down. I kicked up into the third chain-ring and started moving up the gears, third, fourth, fifth. The wind is making my eyes water. The weeds on both sides of the road are blurring by. I glance down to check my gear position. I look back up and out of the tall weeds on the right side, something moves into the road. At first, I think it is a cat, no, to big, maybe a dog. I begin to adjust my position on the saddle in preparation for evasive maneuvering. Off the saddle, weight to the rear, hands in the drops, fingers open ready to brake. All of this occurs in seconds in real time, but slow motion on the bike. Then the dog clears the grass, running hard into the street just a few yards in front of me. That is when I see the horns. Horns? Dogs don’t have horns. It’s a goat! I brake hard and power slide the rear wheel, adjust for skid, reposition body, drop to saddle and peddle. Sheesh!

A goat! As many close calls as I have had with cars, a goat almost kills me!

“It’s so sad tell me, how did Timmy die?”

“He ran over a goat on a bicycle.”

“A goat was riding a bicycle?”

“No, Timmy was riding the bike, the goat was… oh, never mind.


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