Shouldn't Oughta Do This

It’s amazing how dizzy a person can be and still manage to stay upright on a bike.

Now, kids, I’m not promoting this, I’m just saying, in my own words, “I don’t see myself as an advocate for drug use, just an illustration of it,” but here’s the thing: after the Steelers game on Sunday—which I watched at a bar, initially pacing my alcohol consumption quite reasonably (just a couple Guinesses during the first half; oh, and a bloody mary, too), but then picking up the pace a bit as the Black n’ Gold staged their thrilling fourth quarter comeback (the decision to slam an “Irish car bomb” probably indicates how fast I was moving)—I got on my bike and pedaled towards home, no doubt in a state in which merely walking might have been something of a challenge.

But my rule for many years has been that as long as I can unlock my bike, I’m allowed to ride it. (Only once, in grad school, did I fail this requirement, and had to take the bus back downtown the next day to retrieve my wheels.) And since I have a combination lock whose numbers keep getting tinier and tinier every year, this rule actually sets the sobriety bar well above the blackout stage. So, I was probably reasonably safe as I wiggled and weaved up Pine Street.

As I was passing the Elysian, though, I decided one more celebratory beer was in order, so at the bar, I bought a pitcher and shared it around with some fellow cyclists; that I recall pretty well, but what gets kind of hazy, is the ride home from there, which resulted, as I discovered Monday morning, in the back of my jacket being covered with mud, and a rear tire flat as the proverbial pancake, something I couldn’t possibly have ridden on, even were I not the least little bit tipsy, which admittedly, I admit that I was.