Surr-Prise!



M

max

Guest
What could be more private than the parking lot of a little used park?
Maybe a corner of that parking lot at 1:30 a.m., in the shadows, next to the
bushes where nobody can see you? Not the cops on the highway,
and that's what really matters...

It's a great place, you have the fresh air, the river smell -- you can even
see past the bike path to the river itself. Bats and fireflies battle in
silence. Cicadas and frogs resonate. A possum trundles to the trash can
and quietly loots the treats within. Nobody can sneak up on you because
you'll hear their car coming down the winding driveway, and their headlights
will cast moving shadows. It's a great place to relax for a little
old-fashioned parking lot ****... yahh....

Until--OMFG!--a cyclist?!?!?! with 2x15 watt halogen lamps bursts around the
bend in the bike path at 20 miles an hour! and he's headed straight at your
door!---and you can't figure out what to do! You just sit there, staring at
the blinding lights, pale and sweaty and you hear

"BWAAAAAHAHAHAHahahaha hahha ha a a a ah h h!"

echo through the valley as the biker turns and disappears up the drive as quickly as
he appeared.

..max
 
C

Claire Petersky

Guest
"max" <[email protected]> wrote in message
news:p[email protected]
> What could be more private than the parking lot of a little used park?


> Until--OMFG!--a cyclist?!?!?!


I was riding down the Interurban trail, mid-morning, on a weekday day off,
when I decided I needed to use a Honey Bucket by the side of the trail. I
yanked the door open. The guy preparing that day's fix was sure surprised to
see me.


--
Warm Regards,

Claire Petersky
http://www.bicyclemeditations.org/
See the books I've set free at: http://bookcrossing.com/referral/Cpetersky
 
T

Tom Keats

Guest
In article <[email protected]>,
"Claire Petersky" <[email protected]> writes:
> "max" <[email protected]> wrote in message
> news:p[email protected]
>> What could be more private than the parking lot of a little used park?

>
>> Until--OMFG!--a cyclist?!?!?!

>
> I was riding down the Interurban trail, mid-morning, on a weekday day off,
> when I decided I needed to use a Honey Bucket by the side of the trail. I
> yanked the door open. The guy preparing that day's fix was sure surprised to
> see me.


My mom once told me about a time before my time,
when she was blueberry picking with her first
husband, out in Dewdney, which was at one time
an agrarian locally-serving market community.
They were on opposite sides of a row of cultivated
blueberry bushes. She was yacking away, picking
blueberries, and her husband silently followed her
along the other side of the row.

When they got to the end of the row and looked
at each other, it wasn't her husband she was
talking to -- it was a bear. They both went
bug-eyed and scurried off in opposite directions.
I guess a bunch of picked blueberries went airborne,
and some labour was for nought as the Earth reclaimed
her precious blueberries, some of which were possibly
modified by an ursine digestive tract.

Sometimes women have to get DH to say sumpthin',
just to be reassured he's still there. Even if
it takes a good zetz upside the head to snap him
out of his reveries. I don't recommend doing that
to a bear, though. At least, not outside of wedlock.

Dewdney used to be one of the furthest-flung
destinations on our old Inter-Urban trolley line.
Now it's a place people drive through without even
realizing what it once was. Highways killed it.
The best rhubarb and other produce in the Lower
Mainland came from there. Now it's just the
side of the road.


cheers,
Tom

--
Nothing is safe from me.
I'm really at:
tkeats curlicue vcn dot bc dot ca
 
J

John Thompson

Guest
On 2008-04-07, Tom Keats <tkeats2005[email protected]> wrote:

> My mom once told me about a time before my time,
> when she was blueberry picking with her first
> husband, out in Dewdney, which was at one time
> an agrarian locally-serving market community.
> They were on opposite sides of a row of cultivated
> blueberry bushes. She was yacking away, picking
> blueberries, and her husband silently followed her
> along the other side of the row.
>
> When they got to the end of the row and looked
> at each other, it wasn't her husband she was
> talking to -- it was a bear. They both went
> bug-eyed and scurried off in opposite directions.


Never read "Blueberries for Sal" when you were a young'un? :)

--

John ([email protected])
 

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