If you've ever passed the corner of South Person Street and Martin Luther King Boulevard, you've seen the No-Hand King, riding endless wheelies on kids' bicycles, hands in the air, a pair of American flags attached to the banana seat.

For years now, Rodney Hines has been obsessed with becoming the greatest wheelie rider in the world, boasting that he's better than the current record-holder, offering to ride to California on one wheel in support of U.S. troops, if only somebody will give him $5,000.

But now the No-Hand King has a new trick: unicycling.

About a week ago, Hines said, a frustrated unicycle rider pulled up to his house and offered him the cursed one-wheeled bike for free. He'd seen Hines perform his no-hand tricks, seen the array of flag-draped Huffy bikes in his front yard, and figured the contraption was better off in the hands of the No-Hand King. Hines got the bike for free.

It took about 24 hours to learn, he reports. It was hard at first. He was going at it with too much intensity. He had to come out at 3 in the morning to practice, when he could relax.

Now, perched on one wheel, he gets more oh-wow looks than ever.

"You only see these in the circus," Hines explains. "You never see a black man on a unicycle."

He rides 18 miles a day without stopping, from Southeast Raleigh past Cameron Village and back. "You can see what it's done to my thigh muscles," he boasts.

He's offering to teach unicycling, and he's developing a line of No-Hand King T-shirts, which you can see hanging in the front yard. The No-Hand King predicts they'll be huge sellers.

"When people see me carrying the POW flag in one hand and the American flag in the other," he promises, "and they see my definition, they'll be buying these all day."

Hidden in the middle of Schenck Forest, half a mile down the dirt trail, there's a tiny black mailbox on a post – looking way out of place.

There's no reason for a mailbox deep in these woods off Reedy Creek Road, which are filled with practice trees for N.C. State University's forestry students.

But every time I pass it, there's a single piece of paper tucked inside, left there by a mysterious hiker who happened to be carrying a ballpoint pen. Today, the crumpled note offered this sentiment to passers-by: "Of course, there's always love."

There's also a lizard, a toad and a dragonfly.

It's an odd feeling to walk for the first time into the men's restroom at The Goat, a tiny, dark barroom on Western Boulevard. This is because the biggest frill in this no-frills establishment is inside that restroom, and takes the form of a $1,200 urinal shaped like a red-lipped mouth.

I usually only pay attention to water towers when brazen rural teenagers climb them with a can of spray paint to proclaim their love or drunkenness.

Godzuki was a foot-long salamander, light green with dark green stripes. Katherine Simmons and her children found him on an asphalt parking lot in Nebraska, and immediately rescued him from the traffic and birds, taking his scaly hide into the family bosom.

As a pet, Godzuki entertained young Jennifer and Joe for 16 years, running through wrapping paper tubes, balancing on the end of his tail. The Simmonses never even knew if he was a boy. But it didn't matter. He was their cherished reptile.

Now that he's gone, the Simmons family of Durham is seeking a biologist of some sort who can reduce 'Zuki to a skeleton, perhaps to display on a shelf.

 "I just think that having Godzuki's skeleton would be an interesting way to still have him around," writes Katherine. "I find myself looking at the terrarium to check on him."

Is there a reptile taxidermist in the house?

Because bratwursts possess special powers that other sausages do not, I spent a recent evening at Bavarian Brathaus in Cary. After enjoying a certain amount of encased pork and German beer, I ducked out to visit the bathroom.

And there, on the counter next to the sink, I saw something I've never seen in any restaurant, anywhere: an aerosol can of Brut deodorant.

All right, so technically this isn't Wake County, but we couldn't resist. 

One Kat Simmons of Trinity Park in Durham is hunting for a biologist to help preserve the remains of the family's dead tiger salamander, Godzuki. After 16 years, they still aren't sure whether the beloved reptile was a boy or a girl, but they'd still like to have his/her skeleton.

Watch this space for new developments!

Down Reedy Creek Road, there's a grassy piece of landscape art that covers two whole hillsides. On the west hill, the word "NATURE" appears mown into the grass; on the east side, "NURTURE" is growing in giant capital letters.

The thing is, "NURTURE" looks a mess. The "N" has turned yellow. The rest of the letters are misshapen and weedy. Across the way, "NATURE" is much taller and more lush, though still a bit tangled.

It's tempting to imagine that the gods have shined on the "NATURE" side of the grass, sending down pestilence on the man-made side.

But in truth, the state budget-cutters have wrecked both sides, which grace the entrances to the N.C. Departure of Agriculture's Agronomy Division. Once a proud piece of landscape architecture, it's now a weedy monument to sunnier times.

"We are not weeding, and we are not irrigating," said Catherine Stokes with the agronomy division. "This what happens when nature takes over. It's very sad, and very embarrassing."

Anyone who knows me will tell you that many, many, many things make me angry. So many people, situations and inanimate objects get me rankled that it can be difficult to squeeze in time for new hate.