The sweaty pedestrian

I sleep with my window open.

I want to say this has something to do with “enjoying the Minnesota summer” but the truth is that my bedroom window has been stuck open for a few months and I’m too lazy to call the maintenance people.

Last night I regretted not getting that stupid window fixed because around 2am someone started shooting.

I live in one of those “just outside of downtown” neighborhoods where the distant sound of gunfire isn’t unusual, or a cause for concern. The problem with last night’s pops-in-the-night was that they were close enough to the building to freak out the dog, so I had an inconsolable bullmastiff to keep me awake for another hour or so.

So this morning I was exhausted, but I decided to bike to work anyway.

The bike ride to work is 20 sweaty miles in the name of fitness, up hill, each way.

On the way back, I had just crossed the Mendota Bridge when my rear tire deflated. A nail changed me from “hardcore biker guy” to “awkwardly sweaty pedestrian.”

The tire was completely loud and flat by the time I found a bike rack. I left the bike in the park bike rack and then walked to the train station to learn that it was closed for construction.

So I hiked about a mile through a set of cherry-pie neighborhoods¹ to the next train station. I then tried to ignore the glares from the high school girls who clearly thought I was too stinky and sweaty to be on the train.

I felt like leering at them and asking for change, but I just mopped the sweat from my face and stared awkwardly at my bag.

The walk from the final station was another two miles, so by the time I was a few blocks away from my apartment building I was done. I was so tired that I was just offended by my own exhaustion.

So of course it started sprinkling.

I shook my fist in the air and muttered “Don’t you DARE!” and then got  embarrassed that I had actually threatened the sky.

Obviously, a few screws came loose on the Jansen train.

But my crazy threat to the sky worked, and the sprinkles stopped.²

After cleaning up and walking the dog, I drove to the park to pick up the bicycle. My bicycle usually doesn’t fit in my car, but the tire was so deflated that it gave me the few inches I needed to squeeze the bike in my back seat.

The bike is still in the car. I’m waiting for the rain to stop before I drag it upstairs.

It’s been storming for a few hours, and Harley is appreciating the thunder as much he appreciated last nights gunshots…excuse me while I coddle a 100lb dog.

¹ Shutters, sprinklers, geese, ponds, picket fences, Americana goodness.
² You can call me Rick James.