To the Girl I Offended on Williams Avenue Yesterday

On the off-chance that you will read this…

Yesterday I was riding home from work, heading North on Williams. I saw some cyclists standing beside the road, not quite on the sidewalk but not quite in the bike-lane either. I slowed down to ask if they needed help, and you passed me. Politely and with an “On your left.” Once I knew the cyclists were okay, I proceeded on and before long, caught up with and passed you, also with an “On your left.”

And I guess that’s when I offended you.

Just after I turned onto Alberta, you pulled up beside me and angrily said, “What is it an ego thing? Gotta pass the girl? Cause I’ve been right behind you the whole time since you passed me.”

And I replied, truthfully, “No, I was just going my pace and you were there, so I passed you.”

And you looked at me like I was pathetic and disgusting and said, with painful sarcasm, “Whatever, dude.” Then turned off at your block. End of conversation.

I am sorry I offended you. It was not an ego thing. I didn’t need to pass you because you are a girl. I was just riding my own pace and happened to pass you- just as many people do to me every day. In all honestly, not only was I not thinking about you being a girl, I really wasn’t thinking about you at all- other than to make sure I said “On your left” and gave you enough room. I was thinking pretty intently about getting home to take my dog for a quick walk before heading off to have pizza and root beer with my son, as I do every Wednesday night.

Again, I am sorry I offended you. I promise it was not intentional. I’m sorry if some of my gender have treated you unfairly in the past. But please know that that wasn’t the case with me last night. And perhaps in the future, you could give a fellow cyclist the benefit of the doubt rather than jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

Sincerely,
Ryan

R.I.P. Cyrus. 1997- March 29, 2010

Cyrus, when I adopted him from the Oregon Humane Society.

It was time. For the last four months or so, Cyrus was very incontinent. The vet said it was normal for a dog his age. So it sucked, but I lived with it. Then he started having more and more trouble with his hips, to the point that he didn't want to walk or play much. Just wanted to eat, go to the bathroom, then crawl back on his bed and sleep. Then he got to the point that he was pooping and vomiting in the house almost daily. Then, daily. On his bed, on my bed, on the couch. Wherever. He usually didn't even know he was doing it. He couldn't hold down a meal for the last 10 days of his life. He got so weak that he could barely get off his bed. And he lost all control of his bowels; he'd poop on his bed while he was asleep and never even know he'd done it. So I took him to the vet and he said that there were drugs to palliate the pain and discomfort, but that, at this point, it was all downhill. So I decided to put Cyrus down. I took him to the park for one last little play time and, of course, he suddenly started acting like a puppy again. Clearly a little more frail, but moving around, seeming curious about things, having fun. And that made it harder, and more miserable. But still I knew it was time. It was miserable for me, but he was so calm and happy the whole time, and that just made it worse. I'm sure he had no idea what was going on, and I couldn't help feeling like I was betraying him. He was even licking the vet's hand as the vet administered the drugs. For a moment I thought that was about the saddest thing I'd ever seen, but it wasn't nearly as sad as holding his head on my lap and petting him and crying after it was over. I'm trying to forget all that and just remember all the fun times we had, but it's hard. In time, I guess. Meanwhile, rest in peace, old buddy, and thanks for the good times. You are missed, very much.

Last picture of Cyrus, just a few days before the end.