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Dirt Rag Articles
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I got a run out to Cheswick the other day, which is about 14 miles from downtown Pittsburgh. This is a righteously nice run for a messenger, since most deliveries go from one end of town to the other. But I'd hooked up dispatcher Finn with some tasty beverages, and he returned the favor. "Twelver," he said, "provider of highs. How would you like to go to Cheswick?"
I rode out along the river. It was a clean, cold day, with a tailwind--sunny, just classic. The delivery was up a long climb, and I was pretty toasted by the top.
On the way back I started to get the bonk in a big way, so I dropped by Taco Hell and ordered a couple of bean and cheese burritos. A girl with big hair rang me up. "99 cents," she said. I just stood there, staring at her hair. I thought she was joking. A dollar for two burritos?
"That's a pretty fucking good deal," I said.
"That's our regular price," she said proudly.
"Well, roger that."
I got back on the bike and alternated between weaving through traffic and lifting the burritos to my mouth. It got pretty messy holding these dripping tortilla things and I got beans and cheese all over my gloves, which was kind of gross. Plus, the beans in those things--I don't know quite what they are, but they're pureed way beyond being a vegetable. They're more like a gel. You just pinch the tortillas at the bottom, and it's like, voila! -- bean-flavored GU.
Then the Finn called me on the radio. I guess his perception of time and space had gotten warped, because he gave me another call, on the other end of town. I was still 10 miles away, but it was worth some good cash, so I just said "okay, copy one," and pushed the pedals harder.
Now the tailwind I'd enjoyed on the way out turned into a hurricane force against me. I felt like freakin' Ahab in Moby Dick, where he's on the bow during this big ass storm. It was just like that, except Ahab hadn't just eaten two burritos. I was sick. My jacket started getting heavy with sweat and I wasn't anywhere near town yet. To make matters worse, I had also developed a tremendous case of the farts.
Finny was calling me more and more often, saying "How's it going out there? Where you at now?" I didn't want to stop again, but those damn bean and sodium tortillas made me thirsty in a big way. I hung a quick right into a convenience store. I farted my way back to the cooler, picked up some Gatorade, and farted my way to the counter.
The lady behind the counter smiled at me and said, "anything else today?" Then quite suddenly her expression changed and she made her nose move in a peculiar way.
"No,"I said, "That should about do it."
Then I headed back into the wind, full of Gatorade and beans. When I eventually got back near town it was by the zoo. All at once, I had to find a bathroom. Now, I know in D.C. you can just cruise right into the zoo for free. Our forefathers planned it this way, so we could see the bald eagle after its natural habitat became a parking lot. But Pittsburgh is not like that. There's an admission booth. I rode around the chain link fence, behind the zoo, until I saw some kind of service entrance. A pickup truck was parked beside an open gate. In the truck, I could see the little head of a little man. He was rolling down the window to tell me A) You can't go in this way. You have to use the main entrance and B) that when you go to the main entrance, they won't let you take in that bike.
What Little Man does not understand is that there are some things which cannot be negotiated.
I am a blur of motion in the 53x15 as I blow through the gate. In the background I hear a very small voice like that of Piglet, shouting "Hey! Hey!"
It's a shame they don't allow bikes in the zoo because the asphalt path is nice and smooth. I cruised by the bears and over to the big cats and up around some wildebeast or something. I went around the seal pond twice, repeating like a mantra "where the fuck is the bathroom?" Its too bad I couldn't enjoy it more. Finally I found it, sitting all by its brick-house self. I skidded to a stop in front, hopped off and dragged the bike in behind me, locking the door.
While I was on the can I heard Finny calling me: "Twelve, number 12, where you at right now." Then someone with a deep voice banged on the door and said "come out here please." And I thought, Finn, you really don't want to know. And I said to the voice, "I'm afraid that's impossible."
Then I heard some more voices outside, and there was some more banging on the door. And I thought, well I suppose it wouldn't be too bad to just live out the remainder of my life in this bathroom. But after a while it became a bit boring. So finally, I composed myself, unlocked the door and stepped out. The staff of the zoo had turned out to welcome me. There were animal feeders and leopard groomers, ornithologists and zoo administrators, a security guard and some maintenance man in coveralls holding a hoe. It seemed surprisingly quiet. I felt like a celebrity.
"Are you all waiting for the men's room?" I asked.
Hell then broke loose. Everyone started talking at once, and the security guy grabbed me by the bicep and started taking me to God knows where. Above the din I heard Finny pleading with me through the radio, "Number 12, number 12. Where you at, number 12?"
So while I was being led away I said to Finn, "yeah, this is 12. I had to stop by the zoo, and it kind of developed into a small situation."
"What kind of small situation?" he asked.
"Oh, the kind where you go to jail." I said.
The Finner is remarkable in his ability to focus. He doesn't want to know why you're at the zoo. He doesn't want to know why you might be incarcerated. All he wants to know is, "how long before you can clean up your packages so I can go back to getting stoned?"
"This package is growing hair," he said. "I'm going to have to give it to #4."
My day degenerated from there. The zoo people made me go to their zoo Principle's Office. I sat freezing in sweat while the police came and said they were going to impound my bike and actually hold me accountable for my actions, something which never fails to frighten me. I talked quickly and used my hands a lot. I explained the urgency of my plight, with copious references to Mexican food. I apologized profusely, repeatedly said I was sorry, and really meant it.
There was a long period of discussion, during which I hung my head and showed much remorse. They lectured me over and over, but I knew if I just kept my mouth shut and was repentant, soon enough we'd get to the words "we're going to let you go this time."
Which eventually, they did. A cop walked me to the main gate, and still holding my bike said, "If I ever even see you near the zoo again, you're going straight to the station."
"I understand, officer," I said. "I'm really sorry about all this." I got back on my bike and rode slowly away. I called Finn and told him I was ready to go.
"Okay, head back to town," he said, "and no more stops to see the animals."
"I roger that," I said. "I think I'm good for a while."
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