cement.
© 2003 Jamie Zawinski <jwz@jwz.org>


I was bicycling down Mission Street, past a big construction site, and right after that, the lane went away, cones everywhere, and of course, cars, all trying to change lanes at once and meaning me harm (as is their way.) So I was rolling along, doing my best to stay alive, when suddenly I noticed that the road ahead looked a little... off.

By "ahead" I mean "three feet ahead" and by "off" I mean "liquid."

I crossed the boundary, and my wheels were immediately six to eight inches deep in wet cement. "Shiiiit!" I thought, as I bounced on through, feeling the pedals getting harder and harder to push. It was a good thing that I was already going pretty fast, or I'd still be there. I think the pond was ten or fifteen feet across, so I had a few seconds to let the panic gel. As I bounced up over the lip on the far side of the pit, I tossed a glance over my shoulder and yelled "sorry!", only to see a couple of construction guys screaming at me and waving their arms. I pedaled faster in case they decided to pursue, wondering if my gears were going to solidify before I could escape.

At least there weren't a couple of guys crossing the street carrying a plate glass window. That would have been even more of a slapstick cliché than this was!


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