REDNECK: Exempt from ‘Obey’

By on July 28, 2015

Stop sign art has one cyclist reeling


Susie, my organic juice girl, insisted I get more exercise. So, I tried. I left my TV clicker in another room and changed channels by hand, traveling between the couch and TV every few minutes. The trouble is there are no shows worth watching longer than 15 seconds at a time.

At Susie’s insistence, I decided to go bicycling with her. We started at the new post office. Susie encouraged me, telling me we would stop at the 810 Snow King condos to visit some of her organic juicer/bike rider girlfriends.

“They’ve heard stories about Hog Islanders and are fascinated,” she said. “Who knows what will happen.”

I am well aware of the lusty and willful nature of bike rider girls. The source of their (I guess you would call it) vigorous behavior is that the only men they’re around wear lira tights and florescent shirts – not the type of male to excite the evolutionarily developed female subconscious seeking a mate to propagate the species. So when they get a glimpse of a redneck they go wild.

However, from the post office to 810 is almost a mile. I told Susie I was concerned that I may not have the strength to enjoy the situation once we arrived.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Their fridge is stocked with an energy-enhancing organic juice mixture of spinach, kale, cucumber, parsley, celery, garlic, ginger, lemon and cayenne juice.”

“Do we drink it or apply it directly?” I asked.  

Have you ever dreamed you were naked in public? That is what riding a bike is like, no truck doors, no bumpers, not even a gun rack; just two tires, two pedals and a seat. You’re the motor.

After what seemed like an hour, we reached Scott Lane and Snow King. A small sign shaped like a stop sign warned us to “Obey.”

I wondered if the juice girls had posted them. Maybe they were into some kind of dominance fetish and wanted to alert potential paramours of what may be expected. But Susie told me, “No.”

“It’s to remind bikers to follow the same rules as drivers, especially stop signs,” she said.

While I was relieved I won’t have to deal with the whole mistress-slave thing, (I get all that I need with Alice, my Republican lover), I felt an intense anger building.

“Who the hell is anybody to tell me to obey,” I demanded.

“If I hadn’t been out of breath and needed a rest, I would have ran the stop sign. That would’ve showed them.”

Later, while Susie cooked up a falafel seed collard yogurt wrap, I sipped turmeric tonic, resting from the “spin the organic juice bottle” game I played with Susie and the girls.

I got to thinking, since the “Obey” sign reminds riders to follow the same rules as drivers, and since Hog Island drivers rarely stop at stop signs anyway, does the whole stop/obey rule even apply to us? I wrote the town attorney and will inform readers when I receive his legal opinion. PJH

About Clyde Thornhill

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