Somewhere in the sweltering sandy city streets rides a bike commuter head to the wind and legs like giant sweaty pistons rising and falling in ceaseless rythym. It's not easy but then again, what is easy? Thats me, Crank Noir East Valley Commuter.
It was a warm morning in the tired old city in the east valley we call the big cheesy, that's right, Mesa Arizona. It's kind of a dry desert town where a neighbor would sooner call the HOA about your mailbox color than wave hello. Changes have been happening in the Big Cheesy as of late. With the longer days and harsh sun, the fairweather residents have packed up and left leaving behind the kind of scum like me that can stand this heat.
Leaving my driveway I was hailed by a big sweaty walrus type of fellow building a mailbox for the local neighborhood watch. I waved back, wondering if he approved of the color of my mailbox as I turned down a nondescript road that looked like every other nondescript road in this nondescript town. I wondered why he was spending his days building mailbox's? Why didn't he have a job? Why did he care about our mailbox's so much? So many questions, but I am a cycle commuter not a detective dang it!
Then, rounding the corner onto a slightly less nondescript street (it had a park) I saw her. She had a physique like Marianne on Gilligans island if only Marianne had been built like a ken doll and was 80 years old. She waved hi to me and I waved back. Apparently she too was one of the unfortunate scum unable to make the migration out of this sweaty sweltering city we called home.
Heading south I ran into a headwind that felt just like a speeding freight train would if it was moving at 10 mph and was made out of air. Doggedly I tried to get more out of my legs like a sleazy detective beating a source. Unfortunately the guy I call Mr. Exhaustion had got to them first. I figured he must be working for the crime boss we call, Mr. Headwind. Yes, it had his feel.
Knowing the ways Mr. Headwind works his victims and minions alike I made a quick right down a less nondescript but dirty road with scores of mediocre people streaming to the dusty city to sit all day at nondescript desk slowly eaking their life away one day at a time. Their cars frustrated the efforts of Mr. Headwind for now. Many questions flooded my mind. Why was Mr. Headwind getting involved in this from his southern dominions? What did he have against my poor legs? and why was my butt hurting? So many questions, so far left to go.
I was lost in these thoughts when suddenly I was caught by a hooker! She was a dizzy dame with the attention of a 4 year old who has just sat in a car for 8 hours and is suddenly let loose in Disneyland. Headwind must have let on that I was headed this way. Pretending to talk on a cell phone she made an illegal right turn just in front of me. I slammed on the brakes which engaged exactly like a properly adjusted brake wouldn't! Dang! I had forgotten to close my back brake after the last flat! Fortunately for me Ms. Hooker (first name "Right") had misjudged her distance and left me enough room to avoid her.
Turning south again I was again accosted by Mr. Headwind who had obviously been briefed on my direction by the deplorable Ms. Hooker. I could feel Mr. Exhaustion beating the life from my legs as Mr. Headwind asked for more and more. I passed another poor soul whose legs had been beaten into submission by the deplorable Mr. Headwind and his grungy henchman Mr. Exhaustion. Then I pulled my ace card! I made my last turn and an old friend I knew lived around here moved me out of the way of the despicable duo. Yes, that beautiful dame with the figure of a Barby Doll if they made Barbies like a supermodel, a voice like a whisper and a refreshing presence on a hot day. Yes, I had been saved by Foxy Tailwind. Together we sped along the dusty byway called Chandler Boulevard, free of the assaults of Mr. Headwind and his mercenary force. Yes, gentle readers, it was another Commute in the dusty town of the Valley of the Sun, a sweltering city in a dirty desert where excersize is hot, the handlebars are wet, and the sweat drips in your eyes. It's not easy, it's not even always pleasant, but it is what it is and I take it. After all, I'm Crank Noir, bike commuter.