A Driving Disaster

What I'm Listening to: Superman (Five for Fighting) A couple days ago, I got in the car and drove myself and my younger brother to a Superbowl party. Suddenly, I noticed I had missed the main turn and veered off onto a smaller road. To my dismay, a Dead End sign loomed in the distance. "Dang it." I furrowed my brow, but noticed another road to the left. I took that one and the situation repeated itself three or four times, the side roads popping up like weeds whenever a "main" one terminated. When I finally reached the highway, I inhaled deeply and took off, confident my troubles were behind me. Close to our destination, I asked my brother which way I was supposed to turn. "Well, that depends..." he stalled, rotating the map several times. I glanced at him in horror, but he merely shrugged and returned to his futile assessment of the map. After seven or eight tries, I finally found the right house, proceeding to give my brother a death glare and flounce towards the house. As impossible as it might seem, the way back was ten times worse. First of all, the key wouldn't turn in the lock and I nearly went into a panic attack, my theatrical brain persuading me that I would be stuck there for the rest of the night. I was finally able to start the car, though, and I made my way home, which should have been easy compared to the drive there. Wrong. I missed the turn and ended up beginning the drive up the mountains. I first noticed my mistake when I saw the speed limit: 60 miles per hour. That's beyond any speed limit in my city and my concern quickly turned to alarm. Once I was able to turn around and bypass the concrete divider--which was no easy task, by the way--I found the right road easily. Maybe I just needed the modivation of a mountain road all along.

Flat Tire

What I'm Listening to: Heartbreak World (Matt Nathanson) Riding a bike with a flat tire is, well...a byword. If you've ever done it yourself, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Well, here I was one Thursday evening with homework I didn't want to admit I had and boredom I needed to stifle, so I decided I'd go for a bike ride. I strapped on my helmet, rolled my bike out of the garage, and took off down the long, steep hill next to our house. I noticed a strange noise coming from behind, but I figured a leaf had gotten caught in my tire or something. Little did I know. About a half mile later, when the road had flattened out and then steepened again, I noticed the undeniable resistance coming from the rear. The noise I had so easily ignored became my personal demon the rest of the way back home. Every push of the pedal was pure agony. The strange thing is, I had somehow known it all down the hill and across the even road. I just ignored the obvious and pretended my bike was just fine. I paid for it tenfold on the uphill ride back home, though. If I'd only listened to my instincts, I wouldn't have returned home gasping, my thighs and lungs screaming for mercy. But I guess that's life.