The idea that someone would throw tacks for cyclists to hit brings up a very painful memory for me. If this were to happen to me, it could cause me to stop riding all together.

When I was about 6, my parents took me with them on some errand somewhere. It was a summer night and I had already had my bath and was in my pajamas and sponge rollers. When we got home, I ran up the stairs, sprinted across the living room and leapt onto the sofa, as I always did. As I hit the sofa I felt terrible pain and looked to see that there were straight pins sticking out of the soles of my feet.

Of course I started screaming and my Daddy grabbed me up and took me into the bathroom and pulled them out and washed my feet. Meanwhile, my mother berated my older brother for putting the straight pins there. Through my tears and the yelling I heard him say, "You don't want her to jump on the couch! I was trying to teach her a lesson!"

I can't even describe how profoundly angry that made my 6-year-old mind (and this 44-year-old mind, too). This story about the tacks brings up the same kind of feeling.

Karen