171: rollergirl

"I'm not a criminal. I didn't steal a car. I didn't sell heroin, or steal an old lady's purse. I helped promote cyclocross races in 1978, and was a founding member of the DCCoD in 1979. I also had giant laser-eyed robot in 1984. I've tried to conquer the world and almost succeeded twelve times and counting. I am the scourge of Mabra cross."

****

In 1992 I traded my Joey Ramone leather jacket to my friend Nick for these sweet rollers. Some how I thought it was important to learn how to ride them. More important than me looking like a Sheena was a punk rocker kid.
In our first hell hole of an apartment, Diane and I used to set them up in the hallway. Monkey and I didn't pick the rollers up quickly. The patches in the dry wall in that hallway were all the evidence in the world that you'd need of that.

My rollers, now easily over 20 years old, have served us well. A couple of winters ago I was getting in one of my early morning roller rides, one of the cylinders cracked in half. I was thrown to the ground in the basement, but not before ricocheting of the cement block wall. It was 5:30 in the morning. I made such a racket that Monkey ran down to find my sweaty body print on the cold basement floor. Luckily I wasn't hurt.

Slick Rick ordered me another cylinder. It wasn't easy to find, I imagined Buddhist monks in some high Himalaya temple forging my cylinder over an ancient fire.

Although Slick Rick ordered just one cylinder they sent me three. My guess is they were taking up some space on a shelf somewhere, and frankly they just wanted to be ride of these god awful things. I mean they are over 20 years old. Do they even make rollers with cylinders this big anymore?

The extra cylinders were a bonus. So the next time I'm riding in the basement at 5:00 in the morning and I break a cylinder and I find myself violently thrown to the floor, I'll just swap in a new cylinder and get back to my ride.

I don't ride my rollers as much as I did last year. It used to be an hour before work three days a week. Now I find that I only ride them after the boys brutalize me, and I need to spin some lactic acid out of my legs.

My rollers don't roll the smoothest, and the frame actually has quite a bit of rust on them. Still they have a lot of sentimental value to me at this point. One thing is for sure. I've gotten a hell of a lot more miles out of them than I ever did my Joey Ramone leather jacket.

Anne Rock sent me these sweet sturdy girl socks. She doesn't think I'm the scourge of anything.

respect

faticus