Just go nice and slow, and start from the beginning
Today we unveil a brand new feature here at My Year As A Freelance Bicyclist. It’s called The Two-Wheeled Confessional. It provides an opportunity for people to say, well, whatever people need to say.
Think of it like an interview with no questions.
Names are typically changed unless some crazy motherfucker really wants to go on the record for confession.
Oh, and with few exceptions, each of these confessions is recorded by me while the confessor and I ride bikes along a quiet country road in the small moments before dusk.
Our first confession:
Jerome Beckins of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Freelance bicycling… shit. Freelancing almost ruined my life. It did ruin my marriage. The first time around. Then she took me back, praise Jesus. Only did that with promises I’d never go back. Back to riding, sure, but mostly back to crystal meth. You ever had crystal? Ho-ly shit, son. You don’t want to know. You just don’t. Like you’re flying on a speckled horse through a foam party in the sky above Cancun and everything’s smelling like lavender. Except less confusing than that would probably be. On crystal you’re not all ‘Wait, why am I in Cancun?’ you’re just so… fucking… just delighted, you know.
But thing is I only got into Tina—that’s what we called crystal—I only got into Tina because of freelancing. You know what I’m talking about. The schedule, the stress, the expectations… Made my brain crooked. Made me break promises. And then suddenly there I am, long story short, selling my father’s Hank Aaron rookie card. And for what? For THREE HITS.
I used to tease that bitch. Tina. I teased her, would hold off a week, two, so’s I could make it a strong high again. I teased that bitch right up until I shook her off me for good, praise Lord. Went to rehab. Still wasn’t all done with drama once I got there. Of course I wasn’t. I mean, look, I figure, in my life I’ve gotten a mess of women pregnant. Just got lucky with the two I call son and daughter, you know. The rest never came about, one way or another, and I ain’t saying I know what one way means or what another means. But there I was in rehab, trying to start running instead of riding because I knew I couldn’t ride when I got out—but you don’t want to try and shake crystal meth without being in shape, trust me. And bam, don’t you know it, I knocked up some bitch in rehab. In rehab, man. What the fuck.
Anyway, riding. Freelancing. I don’t know how you do it. I’d be on that bike on my first job and I’d be smoking Tina and looking for a hooker.
We want to thank Jerome for his honest words and kind heart.
