There are low-hanging tree branches on the Jeff Davis bike path. As MaPó said, it can be “cruel to the tall and the swift.” I scraped my head on them last summer, one week before Katrina. Now they are worse than ever. City crews have cut the grass but not trimmed the branches.
Yesterday they got me again. As I rode home, I ducked under the branches, and one caught my backpack and ripped a compartment open at the seams. Technology went flying everywhere: a USB drive, a MiniDV tape, my Crackberry. Nothing was damaged, except the backpack itself, a gift from my parents. Guess I need to get a new one.
I’m constantly on the lookout for the classic potholes and the newer puncture hazzards. It doesn’t occur to me to look up since I’m scouring the ground as I ride.