What I really wanted to say. Also, WAY TOO LOUD.

One reason I had to start writing here was because I lied (not just a little either, pretty much all the time) whenever people would talk to me about bicycling.  They'd say "I don't know how you can do it!" and I'd kindof simper prettily and smile and hate myself in the morning because what I really wanted to say to them was "if you got off your sorry ass once or twice a year you might be amazed at what you could do."  In keeping with that, there is this one thing I reliably hear that I have been routinely extra-nice about, because on an important quiet level I sympathized with the sentiment.

What I hear:  I'd like to ride my bicycle to work but I'm too scared to do so.

What I say:  Yeah well I get that.  Cars can be really scary.  Choosing a good route can make all the difference though, where are you coming from?

What is slowly dawning on me:  It's total horseshit.  They aren't scared at all.  They've never bicycled to work, they have no idea if it would be scary or not.  If they have any ideas on the topic they come from driving like a total bastard and scaring themselves.  

With this new understanding, what I would really like to say (but probably will never be drunk enough for it unfortunately):  "A coward dies a million deaths, a hero dies but once."  So wander off, Coward, and piss on someone else's parade.  You're tedious.

Yes the weather here has been lovely.  Thanks for asking.  Onward.

Probably three weeks back now it is Friday and I am happily pedaling my way home for the weekend.  I do not make the traffic light at Charleston and Amp and I pull up behind a very shiny black sports car.  It's a long light and I have time to consider the shiny car.  The label on the back says "Lamborghini."  Ok.  It's a Lamborghini.  Whatever, right?  Wrong, my friends.  Wrong.  A mid-sized sedan pulls up immediately to the right of the shiny car and windows are rolled down.  High pitched squealing emits from mid-sized sedan.  The softy-looking Laborghini driver responds by gunning the apparently massive fucking engine of his car which, if you will recall, I am immediately behind.  Me.  Not in a car.  With nothing in between me and what feels like about a billion decibels.  Do you know that expression "made my ears bleed"?  Turns out having your ears bleed is super unpleasant.  

The revving stops so that the two monkeys can return to assessing each other's genitalia,  I have time to look around and see a bunch of guys, also on their way home from work, all driving Nissan Leafs or Prii.  They look tense and unhappy but not deaf.*  To those guys I say "Don't look so worried.  No woman worth keeping is attracted to you because your car is loud.  Just saying.  It's like attracting a guy by stuffing toilet paper in your bra, eventually you'll be in bed and he's going to notice the difference.  

...and revenge is always there and always fresh and interesting.  The light turned green and the black car stomped on the gas and exploded out of the gate and I started pedaling.  Pedal-pedal.  As I biked across the 101 overpass I looked down and saw the usual bumper to bumper parking lot that is the 101 on Friday during rush hour.  And I saw that the Lamborghini hadn't even made it onto the highway.  He was stuck in traffic waiting to get onto the highway which when he finally arrived at would translate into more traffic.  

Buh-bye you worthless jerk.  Maybe if the traffic gets bad enough some floozy in a sedan will crawl in your window and show you a shallow time.