Loose Cannons on the Run

All my years of living in the pressure cooker that is Miami have convinced me that the ultimate way to let off steam is a little adrenaline.

To my knowledge, there are only two options potent enough to deal with the pungent combination of 8th street traffic and the utterly despicable finanicial aid office at FIU.

i) Epinephrine injections:

This little Ampulle contains hormones harvested directly from the adrenal glands of such badass animals as hogs and ... sheep. Be sure to inject directly into the muscle for best results. Thigh is good, buttocks is bad.

Or,

ii) Loose Cannons on the Run

This death defying extraveganza of a bicycle race is probably the purest source of 100% grade A adrenaline one could obtain on a regular basis here in our not-so-fair city. An event organized by I Am Your Villain, the Loose Cannons race is a monthly occurance, on the first Thursday of every month. This is perfect timing for most Miamians, considering this is right after we've paid our exorbitant rent, ridiculous credit card bills, and are generally left with the sensation that hurdling through traffic is the only prevention to an onset of deep depression.

These races usually begin around 10pm at a fine local bike shop such as Revolution Bicycles or Keirin Cycles, and end up at The News Lounge, a few miles north of downtown Miami. One of the refreshingly liberating aspects of this race is that it is a no holds barred, every man for himself surge of speed from point A to point B. No checkpoints, no planned route, you just go. This allows for creative use of Miami's streets, testing the riders knowledge of the area, as well as quizing them on their reflexes and decision making skills.

Anyone interested in participating in a Loose Cannons race merely has to show up, and acquaint themselves with the fact that the race is only as safe or dangerous as they choose to make it. If you win a loose cannons race, it is safe to say you probably took a couple risks, which is indeed part of the appeal for many of the riders in this event. To quote a participant from the last race, "Woahhhhhhhh! (crash)"! He actually fell very gracefully, and pulled up through the pack for a 6th place finish, which is quite good considering the turnout for Loose Cannons is usually upward of 30 riders.

So, if you've got a need for speed, always wanted to be part of underground racing but couldn't afford the car payments, or if you just plain enjoy a good time on a bike followed by some good beer, this may be the Thursday night for you. For information concerning this, and other cycling to-do's in Miami, be sure to navigate your browser towards miamibikescene.blogspot.com.

Welcome to "I Really Hate Miami"

Welcome. Before we get started, I'd like to clarify something. My blog's title, claiming that I hate Miami, is not sarcastic. I truly do. I was born in this sweaty armpit of a city, and I have lived here for virtually my whole life. Time and time again, my heart will fill with hope that perhaps it isn't so bad here, only to be squashed in the clamp-like grasp of this greater metropolitan area's evil spirit, leaving my abused organ bleeding on the ground like a kindergärtner's unsuccessful attempt at filling a water balloon. These instances usually lead me to question whether or not this city should even exist, and after much pondering, my conclusive answer to this quandary is always no.  My main source of solace in regards to this glaring problem is that our 305 (and sometimes 786) area code is so close to sea level, that it will eventually be swallowed whole by the steaming hot, ice-cap drinking oceans of the earth. Fingers crossed.

I normally would not consider my disdain for this geographical pimple to be blog-worthy, but today, the first of June, 2009, was the last straw. I was riding to class on my bicycle, when I was guerrilla attacked by a thunderstorm. As to be expected, the weather was gorgeous before and after my half hour commute. As I sit soaked from collar to sock, the sky is blue, and the clouds are sighing gently across the sky, displaying obvious satisfaction in their job well done; thoroughly shitting upon one of their favorite targets. However, fifteen minutes earlier I was being deprived of any one dry spot on my body by rain and the inconsiderate splash of an 8th street driver, causing me to shake my fists at the nearest Pollo Tropical and cry, "I really hate Miami"!