neverbeencool

Are we all getting tired of me talking about riding a fucking bike yet?  My God, this is like the eventy-millionth time I’ve talked about it in two weeks.  I’m starting to piss myself off.

And yet, here I am.  Writing about it again.  Because the pain lets me think of nothing else.

So before I started this little adventure, I had a few hangups I had to get over.  Little things.  Like not having a bike.

Ok, so Father’s Day took care of that one.

Next was the commute thing.  I thought I’d just try riding to the train station a couple miles from my house, at least until I got into things, but it turned out that the 10-11 mileish ride into the office wasn’t all that horrible, so I jumped straight to that.  Not in enough shape to do it daily yet, but 2-3 times a week is a pretty good start.

Problem with that plan was figuring out the route.  It’s amazing how different getting from Point A to Point B can be on a bike versus an SUV.  Thanks to that handy local Portland/Vancouver bike map (which I still keep in my bag), that byCycle.org Bicycle Trip Planner website, and a couple of test trips on the weekends, I eventually got that one hammered out.  Still fine-tuning it (as you can see in the changing distances in my Bike Log), but I’m getting it down.

The only other hangup involved my wardrobe.  Obviously, a fat, out of shape dude riding ten miles on a summer day?  Gonna sweat.  A lot.  And since I work in a fairly conservative office building (it’s owned by a regional bank, if that tells you anything), the sweaty Portland cyclist look wouldn’t fly.  Thankfully, though, there are showers available on the ground floor and I’m able to pack a change of clothes without my duds getting too wrinkled en route.  So far, it works out.

But all those things above?  Those were all hitches I expected ahead of time, things I could plan out before I planted my fat ass on that skinny seat and starting peddling.  There were other problems, though, that I didn’t consider and, a couple weeks into this thing, still give me pause.

1.  Shoes

Pain in the ass.  Ok, so like I said, I have to dress fairly conservatively in the office.  Fine.  Whatever.  But when I bike my fat ass in, I’m wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and the Reeboks, shoes that hardly go with button-down look.  I tried just bringing shoes with me the first couple of trips, but they’re big and bulky and essentially double my baggage.

So now I keep two pairs of shoes in my office, one brown and one black.  I shower downstairs, change into the mild-mannered gear, and head up to the 17th floor in gleaming white tennis shoes that make me look like a fucktard when paired with any shirt with a collar.  Granted, that’s only for the few minutes it takes to get to my office, but there’s nothing like riding in an elevator full of suits while you look like you just left your gig at the local Goodwill to build up the ol’ self esteem in the morning.

2.  Nekked coworkers!

Second day I rode in, I was in the locker room putting on the work attire when one of the other guys from my floor walked in.  We started chatting a little bit about the weather and the Blazers and such, just the normal sort of small talk you might share with someone you recognize from down the hall.

Then, after I bent down to tie my shoe, I look up to find the guy walking bare-ass nekked to the shower.

Naked people in a locker room, normal.  Sure, fine.  I shower there, I’m sometimes in the buff.  But they provide free towels!  Use them!  Don’t just drop trou in the middle of a conversation and nonchalantly parade around.  Please.  If nothing else, do it for me, the poor guy who sits three doors down and will henceforth remember you as Nekked Bill.

3.  Pedestrians

Now that I’ve become a part time cyclist, it’s harder to criticize all of them.  Need a new target for my rage.  So FUCK PEDESTRIANS.  Stupid Gods damned hippies, thinking they’re all cool with their walking and their jogging and their crosswalks and shit.

Seriously, though, I did get in a little cussing match with an old homeless dude this morning.  I was coming down the I-5 bridge path (the one with traffic on one side and the Columbia River on the other) and he was walking in the opposite direction.  Instead of taking half a step to the side to make room for both of us, he straddled the middle of the walkway and forced me to hit the brakes and veer between the I-beams to avoid running him down and/or beginning my day with not-so-refreshing swim.

So, again, fuck pedestrians.  That is all.