Sunshine and Glassholes

At last. After weeks—OK, months—of cloudy weather, a high-pressure system has finally parked its fat ass over Southcentral Alaska. That means the skies are nearly cloudless. Even the temperatures are unusually warm for September.

It also means that everyone's scrambling for some fun in the sun, so every convertible has its top down, every patch of grass seems to have people relaxing on it, and bike junkies are rushing to squeeze in their final rides of the year in shorts and fingerless gloves.

I spent four hours riding today, then gulped down some food and took a quick shower so I could head back outside with my daughter. There's just no gettin' enough of this stuff when you know that freezing rain is only a few weeks away.

Unfortunately, I've noticed that the glassholes have been busy the past couple of weeks. Today's pic is from my friend Amber, who had yesterday's road ride interrupted by a debris field of broken glass.

I'd like to take every drunk dumbass who breaks bottles on bike paths, strip 'em naked and make them roll around in that shit until the pavement is shiny and red.

Word of the Day

glasshole (noun): person who breaks glass items on
public paths, trails and/or sidewalks.

(I just make up words when it seems we need new ones.)

Shattered

I like this tunnel. It runs under a street close to my house, and because I typically ride it in only one direction, passing through it usually signals the end of my work day. Two more blocks, and I can eat dinner.

Neighborhood teenagers also seem to like this tunnel. It's close to their houses, too, and because so many parents are too lazy to walk a couple of hundred yards to find out what junior's doing, it's a good place for a kid to drink a bottle of beer without getting caught.

Unfortunately, juvenile delinquents seem to think that the only thing cooler than starting every sentence with "dude" is drinking a jacked bottle of Bud and then breaking the bottle.

Maybe I shouldn't be too hard on them. I almost never see the little cretins, and they don't cause any real problems other than a little graffitti and leaving shattered glass in the path of bicyclists. It's not as if they're mugging old ladies or doing drive-by shootings.

But come springtime, when thousands of tube-piercing shards are scattered across the bike route, I'd like to make some of those little shits walk barefoot through the tunnel a couple of times before I carry my big shop broom down there to clean up their mess.