Come the zombie apocalypse, I am going to be the go-to man. Yep, you read it here first. Will it be because of my dispassionate ability of smashing in their skulls, you ask? My problem-solving skills? No, it will be because every time I venture out on my bicycle, the zombies come to me like eager rats to the Pied Piper. That's what I mean by go-to man. I must have that kind of face. People will pay me vast sums of what will pass as money not to cycle anywhere near their camp. If there's anything left of the internet, my location will followed more closely than any snooper's charter could decree. An example, you cry! Please, please give us an example, Jon, of the type of craziness you allude to. Well, since you ask ...
This morning's harbingers of the hordes to come included a legless man in a motorised wheelchair. I kid you not. I have no idea how he came to lose his limbs, but it may well have been as a result of an accident while driving off the pavement and into the road without looking. Bells on bicycles? I didn't have to time to scream.
Five miles later, and a woman zombie thought that hurtling up to a blind junction and stopping with the bonnet of her car jutting into the road was acceptable driving behaviour. I tell you, they are bursting to meet and greet me and my status as legend in the apocalypse in assured.
I was trying to clear my mind and make a decision about a new frameset, but dealing with these buggers is somewhat distracting.
Don't do stupid – it's just not clever.
Total recorded cycled miles since 21st July 2012: 1897
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