Bios - Eric Engel was born, grew up in, and will probably die in the Cincinnati area. He makes his living fixing things. Big things, small things, old things, new things. Lately, he's been focused on old typewriters. He's written several novels and quite a few Novellas.THAT'S THE BORING STUFF!Here's something a little more amusing:I used to raise goats. In the city. I also can ride a unicycle. And play the banjo too--I can do that. In fact, I can play the banjo while riding a unicycle. And on really crazy days, I can walk the goat, playing the banjo, and riding a unicycle. This, I discovered as a young teenager, is a good way to confuse bar flies. On Saturday nights, I used to ride my unicycle past a bar door. Some of the drunks took notice and would often comment, "Hey, some dude just rode past on a unicycle." The other drunks would nod and comment on how interesting it is that someone should ride past their little abode on a unicycle. No one ever got out of their seats to see the unicycle rider.The next phase included the banjo... which made enough noise (even over the jukebox) to turn some necks and attract attention. But I rode fast enough so that only those who were already looking in my direction actually caught sight of me. And when those people (often it was only one) tried to explain what they had seen, the other patrons would only laugh and tell the witness that he had possibly had too much to drink. The witness would, of course, go to the door and look both ways up and down the street, trying to spot the fabled banjo-cycler. But I would be ready for that. I always had an exit strategy to get out of sight before I could be spotted.The final stage--the banjo, unicycle, and goat all together--often hit the witness so hard he would begin to wonder if in fact he had had too much to drink. Especially when, for the second time, he rushed to the door to get a better view and found, once again, that the banjo-cycling-goat-herder had completely vanished.Read more about this authorRead less about this author