Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D.

9-20-90 . . . If what happened today continues, I’m going to have to revise or rescind my stereotype of Texans. I’ll be honest: To me, a Texan is a sexist, racist, uncultivated lout who cares nothing for high-brow culture, the life of the mind, clean living, or exercise. While on a training ride this afternoon I heard two spokes snap. When the second (fifth in six days) gave out, I stopped on the side of a long, country road to inspect the rear wheel and decide what to do. While [I was] leaning over the bike, two drivers of pickup trucks pulled alongside to ask if [sic; should be “whether”] I needed help. I was so surprised by the first inquiry that I couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence. “I’m just checking, deciding—I broke two spokes and want to see how bad the wheel is. I’ll be all right. Thanks for stopping.” Moments later, when I dismounted again to adjust my computer sensor, another driver stopped. Perhaps they’re not Texans, which would put the world aright. But on the assumption that they are, I’ll store it away as disconfirming evidence of my stereotype. As for the ride, I ended up with forty-two miles instead of the sixty-five that I planned. (The rear wheel was extremely wobbly, so I thought I’d better head for home.) My average speed was 17.72 miles per hour. When I left the apartment, the southern sky was gruesomely dark. I rode directly into some of the nastiest clouds I’ve ever seen, but, through a stroke of luck, avoided rain. The storm passed to the north of me as I pedaled south and west. On the way back, I rode through light rain showers.