The Old Coot is a bicycle rule breaker. Published in NY on July 2, 2025

 The Old Coot goes the wrong way.

By Merlin Lessler

 I first aired this confession nearly 15 years ago. Nothing has changed. I’m still a criminal! Still socially incorrect! A criminal, because I often ride my bike on the wrong side of the road or on the sidewalk. Socially incorrect, because I don’t wear a helmet. Half the pleasure of riding a bike is to be outside with nature, moseying along, enjoying the scenery with the wind blowing through your hair, or what’s left of it. I grew up in a helmetless world – climbing trees, playing football, baseball and yes, riding bikes and soap box racers down hills and through sharp curves without head protection. All kids did. Our mothers said good-bye as we charged out the back door to play and then added, “Watch your head.” And we did! We learned to duck; we learned to take the brunt of a fall on our shoulder, not our head. Besides, protecting one’s head is a survival instinct built into the human genetic code. It’s one of the reasons our species has survived for eons. 

 I often don’t ride with the flow of traffic as required by Section 1234 (A) of the NYS Vehicle and Traffic law. I ride facing traffic when the chances of a sneak attack from the rear by a distracted driver is likely. It’s criminal behavior today, but my whole generation was taught, to face traffic when walking or biking. And for good reason! You can see what’s coming and save your life. But bikers and in-line skaters are no longer allowed to do this in New York State. The authors of the vehicle and traffic law claim that bicycling and skating against traffic are the leading cause of crashes. Pure hogwash! Nearly all bicyclers and pedestrians hit by vehicles, get it from behind. These cockamamie laws and opinions come from state bureaucrats and legislators who haven’t ridden a bike along a public road in decades, if ever. Most of them grew up in New York City. Us outlaw bikers know better. Facing traffic saves lives. It’s the cyclists that follow the rules that get run down by errant drivers.

 My crowd of criminal and socially incorrect bicycle riders are easy to spot. We’re the people in street clothes, not spandex ballet outfits. We are bareheaded, making our way at a leisurely pace on inexpensive bikes, enjoying the fresh air, the scenery and low-level exercise on a vehicle that weighs three times as much as the helmeted speedsters on two wheels who pass us. They stop for red lights, even with no cars in sight. We look both ways and go through red lights. We ride on sidewalks when the road is too dangerous (mindful of pedestrians) and follow our survival instincts, rather than the vehicle and traffic laws. Join us in our civil disobedience. You’ll be a lot safer! And have more fun! (You don’t even have to be an old coot)

 Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot's ego is in Jeopardy. Published in Tioga Co. Courier and Owego Pennysaver. on June 25, 2025

 The Old Coot can’t get the answer, fast enough.

By Merlin Lessler

I don’t know if you’re a fan or not of “Jeopardy,” the quiz show where your answer has to be in the form of a question, but I am, to a degree. That rule was strictly adhered to; contestants often spit out the correct answer, but not in the form of a question; the response wasn’t accepted. The rule has gradually eroded over the years: the host will look at the responder in a questioning manner, giving them a second or two to realize their error, and to restate it the proper form.

All well and good, that format was a gimmick that worked. The show has been on the air since 1964 with a few gaps in that long string of time. I started watching it when Art Fleming was the host and it aired during the noon hour, when I was often at home for lunch. I could get a few dozen answers before a contestant beat me to the punch. Over time, the questions got harder, the contestants got smarter, and I got dumber and slower. I now rarely blurt out the correct answer before they do, and I do a lot of blurting, mostly in error.

My recollection reflex is compromised. The people on the show are just too quick, cheating me of the opportunity to puff up my ego. The only way I might have a chance of shouting out a correct answer before they spoil things for me, is to DVR  the show and when I watch it, pause it right after the question is asked, giving me a minute to dig a response out of the cobwebs in my brain. Then, forward the recording, to see if I was right.

I haven’t resorted to that solution yet. Maybe I never will. It just seems like too much of an effort. So, for now, I’ll sit back with a dunce cap on my head and call it a victory if I get one correct answer before the brainiacs cut me off at the pass.

 

The Old Coot strings you along. Published in New York on June 18,2025

 The Old Coot strings you along.

By Merlin Lessler

 I’m sitting here at the kitchen table with a ball of string in front of me. I brought it in from the garage to tie up a stack of file folders. It got me thinking; I almost never use string.  Rubber bands, Velcro straps, packing tape, masking tape, scotch tape, duct tape and the like have put string out to pasture: They now dominate the “fastening” landscape. Before then, if you wanted to mail a package, you wrapped it in paper from a grocery bag and tied it with string. Securing all four sides by a knot in the middle of the top.  To get it really tight, you asked someone to put their finger in the middle of the first loop of the knot so you could pull it tight, often pinching their finger in the process. But not anymore; we just slap on some packing tape, provided we can find the end that’s often undetectable.

It’s a little sad when you think about it, how this valuable invention, that archaeologist attribute to the Neanderthals, since it was found at some of their burial sites, but is now residing in the “seldom used, old tool pile.”  Not that long ago, if you went to a bakery for a dozen donuts, you walked out the door, carrying the box by the string it was tied up in. Butcher shops had huge spools of it on top of the meat counter, to tie up your purchase.

Kids in my generation , and several that followed, used string for everything: tying a skate key on a string around their necks (I’ll explain what a skate key is at another time), using it to play cats-in the-cradle, to tie to kites, for stringing yo-yos and many other uses.

For many years it was used as a pull chain to turn on overhead lights. Switches took over that function, but you may still find pull strings in closets and basements. People tied a piece of string around their finger as a reminder. “What’s that string for?” someone might ask.  “Oh that. So I don’t forget to mail that letter in my back pocket.” That sort of thing. I think I should tie a string around my finger. I often “walk the mail” through town and back home again. And, how about people who collected pieces of string, sometimes ending up with “The biggest ball of string in Idaho,” advertised as a tourist attraction on road signs along the highway.  

I think I’ll keep that ball of string on my desk, as a sign of respect for a “tool” that once was so important to civilization.

Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

 

The Old Coot skips the little white lies. Published on June 11, 2025 in NY

 The Old Coot is honest.

By Merlin Lessler

There is an old saying, “Honesty is the best policy.” It’s true, but only to a point. I wouldn’t advise taking it above an 80% level. Save that 20% so you can appear civilized, using those falsehoods we call little white lies. Like when your spouse asks, “Does this dress make me look fat?” Answer: “You look wonderful in that dress.” Or, “Honey, would you like to go to the car show with me?” Answer: I’d love too, but I have a terrible headache.”

Normal people set aside “Honesty is the best policy” in those tricky situations. But not us old coots. That’s when we adopt the policy, 100%. There is  only a small chance we’ll get our face slapped or a black eye. “Only a cad would hit an old man,” is what we count on. Don’t ask us question, unless you are prepared for the straight truth in all its ugliness. Even if you don’t ask, we still might give you information about yourself you didn’t want to hear.

We do it to each other all the time; it keeps us razor sharp. If you eavesdrop on our conversation, say in a coffee shop, you’ll get an earful of honesty. – “Your shirt is on backwards you big dummy.  Did mommy let you dress yourself this morning?” – “Your lost glasses are on the top of your head; are you so numb up there you can’t feel it?” – “You need to fix that breath of yours; are you using a garlic clove for a breath mint?” – “You’ve got your wife’s blouse on!” – “You knucklehead, you have two different shoes on!”

Of course, we never tell each other. “You forgot to zip up.” We’ll let you wander around in public like that. Same thing, when a long string of toilet paper is stuck to your shoe as you prance around without a care in the world. Oh yes! Honesty is the best policy, especially when you are an old coot and are no longer required to tell those little white lies. 

The Old Coot obeys the walking rules.. Published in New York papers on June 6, 2025

 The Old Coot takes a walk.

By Merlin Lessler

 What could be simpler than taking a stroll down the sidewalk? You put on your shoes, tie them tight (good luck with that; modern shoelaces won’t stay tied), step out the door and start walking. Everything is fine: fresh air, stuff to look at and no one in sight. You slip into a walk coma, like the one you experience in a car when you get to your destination and have no memory of the trip. 

 Then you spot someone off in the distance coming your way. It’s amazing how quickly the human brain can determine if a moving creature is coming toward you or going away. It must come from a primitive part of the brain, from a time when it was critical to your survival. It got you prepared to make a “fight or flight” decision. It’s not a survival skill we use much anymore, but it still stirs up a considerable degree of anxiety, at least for an old coot like me. I have to break out of my coma and point myself in a straight line, so I won’t stumble into the intruder’s space.

 I embrace the unwritten sidewalk walking rules, I move to the right (like in a car on a two-lane road) and keep my eyes focused on oncoming traffic, which in this case is a guy walking toward me. The hard part for me, is to stay in a straight line. I tend to meander from side to side. Even when I concentrate.

 So, off I go, hoping to pass by the oncoming walker without incident. That’s when I notice my shoelace has come untied. I go down on one knee and retie it. I get back up, a little lightheaded from rising too fast, take a few steps and find myself in the left hand lane. The guy coming my way shifts to his left too. Now, we’re both in the wrong lane but at least we won’t crash into each other. .

 The gap narrows to fifty feet. I switch lanes; I go right, to obey the rules. He goes right to avoid a crash. I can read the look on his face, “Stop messing with me you old coot!” But he’s over it by the time we pass each other. He nods; I nod, and the crisis comes to an end. I go back into my walk coma, but I’m exhausted from the stress of the encounter. I should turn around and head home, but the coffee shop is just a block away. I go there and start the recovery process. I guess there is no such thing as taking a simple stroll down the sidewalk!

 Complaints? Comments? Leave them at mlessler7@gmail.com

Vintage old coot articles can be viewed at oldcootwisdom.blogspot.com

The Old Coot knows how to buckle up. Published May 28, 2025

 The Old Coot says it never ends.

By Merlin Lessler

Once a bureaucracy enacts a rule or regulation, it’s set in stone. We all run into stupid rules that no longer make any sense. Take the FAA for example. They force the airlines to demonstrate how to fasten a seat belt before a plane can take off. Other stuff too, but the seatbelt demonstration is the worst. If anyone on a plane can’t handle a seatbelt they need to take a bus. Besides, the guy next to you can do a better job, the first step is to stop sitting on it.

The seat belt alarm in cars has outlived its usefulness. Most of us have adopted a “buckle-up practice,” even those of us who fought it when it was first mandated. It’s now second nature and it feels uncomfortable not to have that belt snugging us in. But I ignore the alarm when I pull up to a drive-in window. The first thing I do is unfasten my seatbelt to squirm around to get my wallet out of my pocket, and to reach out the window to get my order and avoid spilling the drink, because they don’t always put the top on right. At an ATM I do it, to get a good grip on the cash and not have to chase it down the driveway. The other times I get caught by the seatbelt nag, is when I put a heavy item on the passenger seat that awakens it from slumber.  

How about the TSA, treating us like the Soup Nazi treated his customers on the Seinfeld TV show. They are bureaucratic bullies extraordinaire, ordering passengers to remove belts, shoes, sweaters and coats before passing through an X-ray shower stall. Us old guys are exempt, one of the few perks of turning 75.

But really? After 25 years of shoe removal, because a shoe bomber tried to pull a fast one and failed. But he didn’t fail; millions of people have to hop around in their socks every year before passing muster. Getting through the TSA gauntlet is more stressful than flying 5 miles above the earth, at hundreds of miles per hour in a seat designed for a child. Especially if your face is red because your beltless pants fell down when you stepped into the metal detector.  

But it will never stop! A rule is a rule! Forever.

Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

 

The Old Coot can't see the light. Published in NY Papers - May 21, 2025

 The Old Coot’s view is blocked.

By Merlin Lessler

It’s time to raise the traffic lights and highway signs, because of the size of today’s pickup trucks and some giant SUV’s. Sure, tractor trailers have long been the cause of a blocked view on the road, but I could deal with that – there weren’t so many, and their view blocking impact was sporadic.

But now, a large number of vehicles are getting in the way of my view of traffic lights. I’m not sure if the light will turn red, just as I get to the intersection. What should I do, slam on the brakes? Or, step on the gas and hope for the best? The lights should be raised high enough to see over the monsters on the road. As it is now, my approach to an intersection is a mystery.

Highway exit signs suffer from the same visibility issue. For most of my travel time it’s not a big deal. But, when I approach my exit behind a big semi or pickup truck my view of the overhead sign is blocked until the last minute, and I wonder, “What lane is Exit 223-B, ” for example and I don’t want to get sidetracked to Exit 223-A. Or, when the highway splits and you want to go north and can’t see the sign that says to get in the left lane.  

I’m an old coot, with the emphasis on old, but not a 4-foot tall, little old lady whose head is so low you wonder if anyone is behind the wheel at all. I’m an average size human in an average size vehicle. I have a clear view of the road ahead, except when I’m behind a pickup truck or a mammoth SUV. These behemoths also make it difficult to back out of a parking space in a parking lot. I’m forced to inch back into the travel lane, and don’t get a view of what is coming until I’m ¾ of the way out. Some old coots, just back up without looking, all the time; it’s not a problem for them. I haven’t progressed that deep into the old coot persona, as yet, but it may be time to adapt the “no look,” back up technique. And, I might as well stop fretting about sailing through intersections after the light has turned red too. It’s almost unavoidable anyhow.