I was going all of 7 miles an hour. It was the Wednesday a few days back, the one with all of the snow. I was biking across Arapahoe at 13th st.
Afraid to turn in the slush at my raging speed I pulled my rear brake and nothing happened (you know how sometimes brakes, when they’re wet, can be slippery?). So I pulled my front brake just before hitting the curb and (you know how sometimes brakes, when they’re wet, can be sticky?) it locked up. The entire rear of my bike lifted up, and so did the curb–or so it appeared as it grew closer and closer to my face.
Yes. I endo’d my bike. My first end-over-end, me over the handlebars (“ass over teakettle,” Wes tells me), yet. And rather painlessly I might add.
A passerby took great interest (it was probably a good show–which was Henry’s first question: did anyone get to see you?): “Are you ok?” asked the passerby. “How’s your wrist? Your head?”
My response: “Are you in the Dovekins?”
“Yes, I’m Griff.” We shook hands.
I love the Dovekins… so we talked about this. “I’m playing a solo show at Shugs this Saturday,” he said.
I’ve wanted to check out Shugs. Haven’t been there yet and still think of it as Trilogy.
“I’m opening for a band called the Yawpers.”
I’ve wanted to hear the Yawpers. They’re basically my favorite local rock band Ego vs. Id, disbanded and reformed without my-primary-reason-for-seeing-them, my good friend Robbie.
So there it is. I’m going to see the not quite Dovekins open for the used to be EvI at the once was Trilogy tonight.
And I think I’ll drive my car.