People Are Jealous of Trenton

I play hockey on Monday nights in Philly, with a group of guys from 20- to 70-years old. I'm always bragging to them about Trenton. There are things we have here that you can't get anywhere else.

I was not aware of one of them until the hockey guys started telling me about how hard it is to get landscapers to give them estimates and even harder to get someone decent to do the work.
I said, "What about the men on bikes?"

"Men on bikes?!?!" they exclaimed together.
"Yes," I said, "You know, the men on bikes." I thought they were playing with me, with their stares of disbelief, as I'm originally from Canada and not as well-versed in the ways of the American Suburban Jungle. They just stared at me, urging me to continue with their eyes. I said, "We don't have them in Canada. But in Trenton there are these guys that ride around on bikes, and tow lawnmowers, and keep chainsaws in the bike carriers and gas cans in their free hands."

They said they had never heard of such a luxury.

I said, "Where I live, there are armies of men on bikes ready to do anything at a moment's notice. Quite reasonable too." I now had their undivided attention.

Having the undivided attention of my hockey buddies does not happen very often. Actually, the last time it happened was my first year of playing with them. We were eating deer steaks and filets in the parking lot after the game, barbecued by Hunter Danny, or Serial Killer Danny as I affectionately call him. I would come home stinking of deer juice and my wife would ask me what I had eaten. "Well, some deer sausage, some deer steaks, deer jerky. Lots of deer." I could see this was unnerving to her, for a number of reasons, and not just because of the way I smelled upon my return home. She told me, "My dad hunts, and the deer you're eating is out of season." The next week I went back to play and talked to Serial Killer Danny as he barbecued. "So Danny, where do you get this delicious meat? Do you freeze it from hunting season?"

Danny looked down at me through his thick glasses, brushed his straw hair aside and said, "Glen, I live across from a UPS Depot, and the trucks hit a lot of deer, and if I can get to it while it's still warm, I butcher it."

I said, "So if it's still warm..."

He interrupted, "And if the eyes haven't glazed over." So I moved over to where the boys were chowing on some deer burgers, and told them that they were eating road kill. They all told me I was full of it. So I called Danny over. By the time Danny got to the part about the eyes glazing over, the boys were chewing much slower.

Alright, off topic. Sawry. I described to the guys how, in Trenton, we have these dudes that ride around on bikes, and they pull their lawnmowers behind them, while juggling a gas can in the free hand. And they charge like 10 bucks for a decent mow. When I told them about the guy who actually towed a wagon on a rope behind him with two lawnmowers mounted on top, like a bike Semi, the hockey boys were were drooling. Here they were begging to have their lawns mowed, and I was living in the Mecca of Lawnmower Men.

I told them that here in Trenton, not only can we get a quick landscaping estimate, but we can't keep these eager fellows away. In fact, one time I was working in the backyard with a few contractors on our garage, and this huge, muscle-bound, Mr. T-looking mofo walked right into the yard, and up to me and said, "I'm here to mow your lawn!" And when I kindly declined, he stepped closer and said, "I'm going to mow your lawn." I looked him over, and at 250 pounds of solid muscle, and wearing a shirt that had been borrowed from the Incredible Hulk in the middle of his transformation, I realized he was made to mow lawns, and who am I to stop a man fresh out of prison from doing what he likes? He mowed the lawn, a few rocks, some stumps and part of an old fence which we didn't really didn't need anyway, for all of twelve dollars.

My astute hockey buddies were impressed with this. They want me to organize a convoy of these Bike Riding Entrenpreneurs to come to their aid in Philly. But I don't think so: the Bike Men are Trenton's, and I'm not sharing!

Detroit is Motown, Trenton is MowTown and it's my town!