Where would we be today if Adam Lanza had picked up a Bianchi instead of a Bushmaster?

Today is the fifth anniversary of the Newtown Massacre, where Adam Lanza shot his mom dead, stole her Bushmaster, and shot up an elementary school before eating his gun. Adam was apparently a deeply troubled individual. I just wonder where we would be today if he had picked up a Bianchi rather than a Bushmaster to deal with his devils.

That occurred to me as I sat looking through my first issue of Bicycling in a while. Apparently, the League of American Bicyclists has reestablished connections with the granddaddy of bike mags after a layoff for whatever reason.  Having just returned my two year League membership fee, the first of a series of what looks like a somewhat skinnier and glossier issue than I remember arrived in the mail. Perhaps not surprisingly for an old coot, I felt some of that old excitement we felt back in grad school as the new Bicycling issue appeared, en masse, in our Stony Brook Geosciences mailroom. A number of us subscribed as there was a big contingent of riders in the department. Even several faculty members. Some good stuff in this one, too.

I had my own devils spinning in my head while in grad school. A TBI from being lofted over a car as I rode my bike, a painful and protracted divorce, and convincing myself to finish my Ph.D. rather than pump gas during a time of deep self doubt. At one point I unwisely (and in a fit of stupid self-pity) put up a news story of Theodore Streleski on my door with my own face pasted over his mug. Thankfully no one took it seriously enough to call in the men in the white coats. (I retroactively apologize to anyone I rattled.) I wouldn't dare put up that shtick today, in a world where too many people think the answer to their grievances is an M4 rather than therapy--and where, with our retreat from a committment to public health care, its getting harder to get good therapy than to get a Bushmaster. Fortunately, I took to Cannondales rather than carbines (except during deer season) and no one was the worse for wear from my bicycling addiction except that raccoon that ran in front of me on a ride back in 1986. Even he/she ran off apparently unscathed and all I had to do was true my front wheel.

Too bad old Adam couldn't find a more constructive outlet for his demons than mass murder. Solve your problems. Ride a century or two; it kinda grows on you. In that context,100 miles is more constructive than 100 rounds.