One night I rode home from a party, drunk. REALLY ****ing drunk. I was riding an old Schwinn 3-speed clunker with no lights, and I get this great idea: if I SING loud enough, people will hear me coming and I'll get home safe. So I go tearing up and over the capitol square, scream-singing Cheap Trick or whatever was in my head, everything going by in a blur, riding way too fast for my condition, when the cracked old 70s grip slides right off the bar in my hand, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure style.

So I'm weaving almost out of control, drunk as hell and trying to put the grip back on. Managed that. Got home in one piece. But I vowed never to ride that drunk again...