Report Card Reward (and the source of my crapture)

At long last, I reveal to you the reason that Frinkenstein needed to coin the word "crapture."

It's a long story.

Frinkie has been talking about doing long-distance riding for quite some time, and as you can imagine, I've been reluctant to give him my blessing. He does run errands around town by bike, and although I can't say I don't worry at all, I don't get freaky about it. It's those high-volume, high-speed and/or rural roads that are troubling to me.

In the spirit of compromise, I offered that he could ride bike paths as much as he likes. And then, in a forehead-smack moment, I realized that I, too, could bike to my heart's content on bike paths, away from those stinking, hulking car beasts. I just hadn't thought of it before. I was surprised at how much Imissed biking, and how excited I felt at the prospect of going back to it.

Frinkie wasn't thrilled with the idea of riding on a crowded bike path with a bunch of pokey old roller bladers, toddlers on training wheels, and old grannies (like me) creeping along at 10 mph. But some riding is better than none, isn't it?

After I offered the bike path compromise, I felt panicked. What if he thinks that this means he can ride any old where, any old way he likes? I'm not ready for that. A lot of really ugly old mental loops began repeating in my head. My picture of what the accident must have looked like. Memories of the crushed bike. That first horrible phone call.

But when it was time for Frinkie to head to our friendly LBS to do some test riding, I asked him to do it on a day when I could come with him. He seemed mildly surprised, wondering why I'd want to do that. Well, because I like bikes! However, I stressed that my going to the bike shop did not imply official endorsement of any activities that might arise from said visit.

I stayed behind as collateral while he was out testing bikes. I couldn't help sitting on the EZ-1, a bike that for years I'd meant to try out. It was so comfortable that it seemed made just for me.

When he came back from his test ride, I knew from the beatific glow on his face that I couldn't stop him from doing this. Or rather, that if I did, he'd harbor a deep resentment and sulkiness, whether he would admit to it or not.

And then, finally, the time had come: did I want to test-ride anything? Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I did.

It took about ten seconds on the EZ-1 for me to remember why I had loved recumbents so much to begin with. I felt so much ... like myself again. And that's when I had that moment of crapture. I didn't want to like it! But I knew it was hopeless -- this bike was mine. Back at the shop, I was already feeling protective about people leaning on it. Oh no! What if someone else snatched it up and there were no more? I was surprised at how cheap it was (for a recumbent), and then I knew it would be a waste of time to go home and think about it. I already knew the answer.

So I picked up my new bike today. 98 degrees, about 5 miles, much of that uphill. I got a bit cranky about halfway through, but felt great by the time we got home. It's been a long time since I've gotten good and stinky, and it made me feel pretty macho.

I'd been thinking that I had stopped riding after we got to Portland, but I realized that it's not true. I did quite a lot of riding while we were trapped in Dixon, and remember still riding at both of the apartments we lived in when we first got back here. It was only after we moved into the house that I really stopped altogether.

I do remember a specific moment that might have been what made me hang up the helmet. I was on the bus, looking at the drivers in the next lane. One driver had -- I don't remember the two specific things -- a sandwich and a drink, or a cigarette and a cell phone. Whatever it was, she didn't have a free hand to drive with! And this made me start paying attention to what people do while they're driving cars. I can tell you that it's not keeping their eyes on the #$!%!! road.

Portland really is a great place to ride a bike. But I'll be sticking to those low-traffic, low-speed neighborhood streets.

A Word is Born (and now you're in the man from Mars)

This week, Frinkenstein and I discovered a hole in the English lexicon. There is no English word for the combination of feelings you have when something is really great, but you don’t want it to be. Your heart says, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” but your brain says, “Ohhh, no, no, no …we’re doomed.” (Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

So for the sake of future etymologists, let it be written in the annals of the Internets: On Friday, June 23, 2006, Andrew E. Heckman coined this much-needed word: Crapture.

OMFG!!

Grades were posted today — I truly can’t believe that I got an A- in phonology! I was sure that there was no way I’d be able to pull any kind of A out of there. I was bracing myself for something as low as C+. I really, really can’t believe it. (I rocked syntax and history of English with As, too, but I felt confident after those exams so it wasn’t a huge surprise.)

I have an appointment today for one hour of deep tissue massage, followed by a facial and a girly makeup lesson. Now I can really enjoy all of that, rather than being consoled by it!

I still can’t believe it. I need some kind of performance bonus, beyond the spa day and new batch of DVDs from Germany. What should it be?

Giddy

I thought I'd post this before tomorrow, when the phonology final might crash my mood.

To my surprise, I felt pretty confident in my answers on the syntax exam. When I was done, and I realized I was ... DONE ... WITH ... SYNTAX ... I couldn't help smiling from ear to ear.

And as I walked out smiling, something got stuck in my head. Syntax, this song's for you.

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