Part 2 of 4

There were a few other issues with the place I lived as a young sports reporter aside from the “Monkey Bluto” water pump, but overall I liked the place. I liked where it was. Not too far from town, but far enough.

At first.

There was a lot of traffic in the mornings, but not too too much. This was in a rapidly suburbanizing area, but there was some nature left. I liked the color green.

Then the old family Horizon I was driving blew a head gasket. Totaled. I had to ride my mountain bike to work and back every morning for weeks.

Cars piled up behind me an honked. They all hated me, especially on hills I could barely get up, and they passed inches away from me. Nearly pissed myself more than once.

I was like, people have mercy! I’m an out of shape guy! I hate bikes on the highway too but my car broke! I’m working on it please don’t kill me!

The ride home was more enjoyable, but it also had risks. Speeding down steep hills with the wind in my hair was exhilarating. It almost made up for how much it hurt pedaling uphill.

But one day a white-tailed deer walked out in the road and wouldn’t budge.

It just stood in the road staring at me like “what the hell are you?” I thought God if I hit this deer I could break every bone in my body and it would still be hilarious. The worst.

I tried to think of what to do as I got closer and closer. Then I yelled, “Beep! Beep! I’m a car!” And it jumped. That’s right, I’m a car, bitch!

Family helped me get a Pontiac LeMans that smelled like cigarettes and had a colony of ants in the back seat I could never get rid of.

And I liked it just fine. I was lucky to have it. Anything to not be cursed, honked at and maybe run over, or killed by the local wildlife.