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I've never spent so much time on a bog as I have on this one. Don't expect too much in the way of quality, though. I'm pecking it out one handed. I crashed my bike Saturday afternoon and since have spent most of my time cringing over my still-undetermined-collarbone injury and sulking. Right now I'm admitting it will be at least a week before I go for a bike ride.

Then, Monday, when I checked my e-mail I learned that my favorite Boulder County icon on a bike died recently.  Breaux was to East Boulder County what Pepper is to Victoria. He might not be a friend; you may have never been formally introduced, but you know who this guy is and if you stick around more than a couple of weeks, chances are you have a story about him.

Breaux had a crunchy, hippy bent, particular to his locale. He went everywhere by bike -- he was even spotted pedaling around in the December '06 blizzard. Before the streets were dug out. He traveled miles a day to pick up cans -- not a cash-making proposition, since he turned them in at the county recycling center. He wobbled down the street, four or five garbage bags stretched past capacity and tied to his handlebars like lumpy balloons. Maybe more slung over his shoulder. The city of Louisville gave Breaux a special award for recycling, which came with a gift certificate. With that, he bought a trailer for his bike, which he soon filled with more cans.

I've saw at least one John Breaux Halloween costume, so I'm not surprised 2,000 people came to his funeral.