In keeping with previous efforts to record the logic by which this whorphan lives, the following are logical steps he takes in preparation for leaving home.
Before even approaching the front portal he runs through the list of tasks he wishes to accomplish whilst out-of-doors. Once the steps necessary to accomplish the tasks at hand are clearly fixed in his mind, he gathers up the tools necessary to go about his business quickly and efficiently. These might include a laptop to use at the public library, an overnight ruck packed the night before, a pair of worn-out shoes that need cobbling, a list of groceries and the reusable shopping bag in which to carry them, a few dollars to pay for services rendered, &c.
By glancing quickly out the window he collects information about the weather and gathers up the tools needed to shield himself from it, be they umbrella and raincoat or sunshades and hat. After securing shoes to his feet he checks that cell-phone, house-key, and wallet are on his person. Steeled by one last mental run-through of the upcoming tasks, he finally opens the door and makes good his exit.
If he sticks to the above steps he can attend to his various external errands via the most efficient walking or bicycling route without doubling back to fetch some forgotten thing.
Spes mea in ratio est.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑
The coldness has hampered, my bicycle's gears, in truth things are worse than I have seen in years. To counter this error, of worn-out old grease, of wires that freeze and dérailleurs that seize, I've sampled and tinkered and finally found, the configuration that gets me around. I call it the super-sprint, because it's fast, allowing me quickly to mount every pass, allowing me also to rush across town, both neighbors and strangers think that I'm a clown. To enter the super-sprint I with care place, the rear-most dérailleur three gears up from low, then adjust the forward gears to climb or race, and scamper and hurry through ice, wind, and snow. The back gears keep skipping, far less than before, at least now I'm not being thrown to the floor, or vexed by a jumping chain while oscar mike, while braving the season of snows on my bike, while riding through blizzard and lasting darkness, feet going like crazy with sweat on my chest. If you pass a bicyclist pedaling hard, then give her some breathing room – more than a yard – then wave to her briefly or give her a nod, for she is a champion chosen by god, to prove to us others that sacrifice counts, that each of us by any means should renounce, the slavery that automobiles demand, the titles and payments that slip from our hands.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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I bicycle, write, surf, and strive.