Travels with Pops

TOUGHEN UP, BUTTERCUP

There is a place in New Orleans....and in the northeast quadrant of 2ton territory that might aptly be named The Forbidden Land, a place no one dare ride, where the perils be great and dark forces lie in waiting for the poor soul  foolish enough, nay, consumed by hubris, to tempt the gods in sojourning this foreboding, baleful region.

But what the hell, it was 14 degrees out so what were the odds I'd get bustid? The dogs needed it, anyway. That's good enough reason right there*. AND the afternoon was going to be a solemn affair. AND my ass was/is getting fat. AND The Forbidden Lands are supported directly through my tax dollars. All perfectly good reasons to partake, I figgered. A veritable two-for-one special awaited: ride the bike and run the dogs! Can't do that very often around here, now can you?

Still, my feet were telling me I was a dumbshit for even thinking about riding a bike on a day like that. They simply do not like cold weather. Hands, head, torso, scranus**, someday-to-be-Beck-Wethers-style nose - they're all troopers. But the feets and toes would rather stay home and sip a toddy by the hearth.

To my feet and my toes, I say this: Toughen Up, Buttercup. Don't be p*ssies.

So SupaiPoopsieSuperDooperDog, RogieRoo and I hit it for a quickie tour of  The Forbidden Land.
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DISCLAIMER: I do have a brain, folks. Seriously. And occasionally I use it the right way: The gameplan was only to ride a couple of miles, and I figgered the dogs would warm up and not get too godaweful cold. Unlike my toes, the dawgs are troopers.

When Supe finally decided to join us again after chasing some sort of beast far and wide over hill and dale, we all posed for a "selfy" at The Forbidden Land's version of The President, a BFT of the yellow popular species and persuasion.

The dogs were detecting detection, so stealthily, we avoided a not-so-inexorable detection by bushwacking across a ravine. The Rogue-ster was hot on my trail:

Now I know this argument has been made ad infinitums, and I'm a villain for doing what I was doing, but if that BFD on the right does not qualify as a horse, then I don't know what sort of creature does. And he was having a blast, so rules be damned!!!! Thirdly, I know that riding without a helmet qualifies me as a bad seed, but sometimes a man gotta do what a man gotta do. As they say in Muleskinner Blues, "If you don't like you're job, set the water bucket down." And if you don't like the idea of my riding in The Forbidden Lands during the day or any other time, then I'll gladly refund your subscription to this blog. I'll smile, agree with you, then continue doing what I want to do anyway***.

* Kurt Vonnegut
** BikesnobNYC
*** The Venerable Bob Hoffman, one of only four people I know who enjoy drinking a particular brand of swill that really ought to be outlawed in this law-abiding, civilized world.