It’s Bike to Work Day 2013 (obviously, right?), so you can bet I spent part of the morning on my Hymen Buster 3000. Bike to Work Day happens to be one of my favorite summer social events, and it usually ends up being more like Bike to Breakfast and Another Breakfast and Another Breakfast Day. The whole ‘going to work’ part of it is a total and obvious drag that I go through with only to lend credibility to my actually having participated in the event–and so I can be entered into the drawing for a free t-shirt that I will undoubtedly never wear. Let’s be clear, whether it’s biking, busing, walking, driving, or being dragged by a pedophile, I don’t want to go to work, but being congratulated for the achievement of just getting there helps temper the disappointment. Come to think of it, instead of an administrative assistant, I’m going to hire a cheerleader to shower me with praises of accomplishment and appreciation for walking into the office every morning. That sounds cheaper than an assistant and I could probably discriminate on the basis of sex while trying to fill that position–something I’ve always wanted to do.
My ride into the office this year (this will not be a repeat performance) was fairly uneventful, minus getting lost on the way (shockingly, that was possible) and almost being hit by a truck (unbeknownst to me at the time but brought to my attention later through the friend who happened to be driving the truck).
So, one cup of coffee, two breakfast burritos, three donuts, one unwelcomed conversation with an all-too-indie bike mechanic centered on how shoddy my bike components are, and two Power Bars later, I arrived at work looking like I had simultaneously suffered from a heart attack and obtained a serious sunburn. I don’t know what it is about getting my heart rate up that triggers a massive blood flow to my face, but give me five minutes of moderate activity and it looks like I’m holding a kickball between my shoulders. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some kickball but would prefer to not look like one. I’d also prefer to not get hit by one in the face, but you can’t always get what you want; take it from here, Mick.
Fortunately, the color of my face has finally returned to normal—which, at a pasty-white blotchy tint, is nowhere near so—just in time for me to get back on the crotch-bruising rocket and find my way home. In my opinion, the biggest downside to Bike to Work Day is that there does not seem to be an accompanying Bike Home from Work Day. It’s implied, sure, but the feat of biking home certainly is not as appreciated as the initial trip, which is unfortunate because I could use a Muscle Milk-sponsored happy hour drink far more than a breakfast burrito, and I know I’m not alone. I have to think there is a reason the return trip isn’t celebrated more and as I remember back to the day I drunkenly ran off the bike path and into the river (x3) I can understand the rationale. While I can’t guarantee that on the way home I won’t dial a worthless voice from my past while huddled by an underpass and crying, at least today I’ll have a free bike map and 10% full service tuneup coupon with which to cover my face.
Cheers and ride
hammered safe my friends.