Ask Lemmy
A Fediverse community for open-ended, thought provoking questions
Please don't post about US Politics. If you need to do this, try [email protected]
Rules: (interactive)
1) Be nice and; have fun
Doxxing, trolling, sealioning, racism, and toxicity are not welcomed in AskLemmy. Remember what your mother said: if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. In addition, the site-wide Lemmy.world terms of service also apply here. Please familiarize yourself with them
2) All posts must end with a '?'
This is sort of like Jeopardy. Please phrase all post titles in the form of a proper question ending with ?
3) No spam
Please do not flood the community with nonsense. Actual suspected spammers will be banned on site. No astroturfing.
4) NSFW is okay, within reason
Just remember to tag posts with either a content warning or a [NSFW] tag. Overtly sexual posts are not allowed, please direct them to either [email protected] or [email protected].
NSFW comments should be restricted to posts tagged [NSFW].
5) This is not a support community.
It is not a place for 'how do I?', type questions.
If you have any questions regarding the site itself or would like to report a community, please direct them to Lemmy.world Support or email [email protected]. For other questions check our partnered communities list, or use the search function.
Reminder: The terms of service apply here too.
Partnered Communities:
Logo design credit goes to: tubbadu
view the rest of the comments
Excessive speed on a bicycle. Alright, I did it more than once, until a slow car scared the shit out of me.
At one point I lived near a small mountain with a road going up. It was so slow and painful to get up, but a huge thrill going down. I didn’t have a speedometer but it was a 45mph road (and everyone speeds) and I consistently passed cars. It had only one lane in each direction and I regularly passed cars going over 45 mph, by a lot. Then one day I was about to pass the car and she slowed to turn. Panic time, huge continual squeal of my brakes that scared her into accelerating past her turn, and I still zoomed by on the shoulder before I could stop, hundreds of feet beyond.
Clearly way too fast for my vehicle and my (lack of) protective gear
Had a tamer but similar hill near my home growing up. Loved speeding down. It ended in a lot filled with gravel. Fortunately the day I spun out on the gravel lot was coming from a different, slower direction. Developed an extremely bad case of road rash all over one leg. When I realized what might have happened if I'd been taking the hill instead, that I probably would have broken my legs or worse, I stopped going down that hill. Realization of mortality can be like a bucket of ice water sometimes.