Cycling is Really My Sport.

If it can be called a sport. I guess it can. And it directly relates to driving. Except your life is more up for grabs than if you’re in a car. My friends that cycle with me will agree - there’s something to riding in traffic. Here in Washington, DC we’ve got quite a bit in the way of traffic. I can think of (almost) no greater rush than riding with and around traffic on 14th and Pennsylvania at rush hour on any given weekday. It’s like the first time a Hino delivery truck pulls in front of you. You saw it coming from 200 feet back and have already leaned a quick left then back right to avoid collision - unconciously unclipping from the pedal and clipping back in - and raising your fist in the air - you realize that you are in fact alive and alert. It’s as if all the cars are just big dumb animals. You spot their errors before they’ve made them and you’ve already begun reacting.

Cars lined up behind you as far as you can see at a stop light. Before the light turns green, you’ve already clipped in and are crossing the intersection - aware of every car within 500 feet. The light turns and with an effort that distorts the grin that’s pasted to your face, you leave the pack of cars that are just realizing there’s a green light in front of them. As you top-out at 30mph and slow down for the next light, the cars catch up and once again you anticipate the light and when the pack of traffic can no longer move because of congestion, you’ve already dodged into the empty oncoming traffic lane and have diverted back to a turn lane, pumping with all your might to make the light - not because you’re in a hurry, but because you want to keep the state of alertness and adrenaline rush that you think about between rides.

Is there anything of yours we can take as a momento of this visit?

Who can have a decent ride without a music bed? And it’s got to be techno. Not that wanna-be Madonna pop crap either. Couple of weeks ago I’m riding down 18th Street past some building I should know and directly over a steaming manhole cover. As I ride across it I realize it’s REALLY steaming. Like a blowhole of 300 degree steam at 200psi shooting up my leg and into my face. Normally, this wouldn’t be a real big deal - I’m going - oh wait I can’t see the speedometer. Can’t see the GPS. Can’t see - oh shit - sunglasses fogged up. At last check I was riding briskly behind a city bus with another one in tow. Yank the glasses down and peer over them just in time to see the bus stopping. Brakes. Is there anything of yours we can take as a momento of this visit? Take California. Lean left around the bus lean left again joining up with traffic leaving a light on Constitution.

Yeah it’s good. ‘Till you get locked in your clips and fall over at a brisk 1mph in front of the Marine Corps Memorial at noon on a Saturday. That’s just grand. You’re too embarrassed to even reply much less look at the woman asking if you’re okay from across the grass. Get up. Get up now. Ride away, just ride away. Nobody really saw that. The tour bus full of camera-flashing “We’re from Orlando”’s, armed National Guard guys walking everywhere and that guy with too-short jogging shorts missed that.

Steve walks warrily down the street with the brim pulled way down low.

Driving is a Sport.

I don’t remember who said it, but I can surely think of why.

“Dan, most people are into some kind of organized sport - your sport is driving.”

Yeah that about sums it up. I couldn’t care less about baseball, football makes no sense to me, soccer sure looks like fun but who can keep up with it all, hockey is a real sport as far as I can tell - what with the fighting and swearing and ice and all but I still don’t really get it. Driving for me is a sport. You’ve got this guy in front of you that’s clearly got his thumb somewhere, not paying attention and OH MY GOD he just missed that opportunity to get in. GET IN MAN. GO! Jesus, who coaches these guys anyway?! YOUR TEAM SUCKS MAN.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t wanna get killed. I’m not one of those people who swerves in and out of traffic on the highway at terminal velocity trying to get to the gun ‘n knife show, but wherever I’m going, I want to be there. Just to be there. Everything else between here and there is in my way. I’m not going to kill you to get to there - I don’t expect you to kill yourself (or me) trying to get where you’re going, but for the love of christ, please, just *want* to be there. If the speed limit is 40 and you’ve just left a stop sign, then WHY would you take 10 miles to get UP TO 40? Again, the speed is the immediate destination, WANT to be there. Picture going 40. Are you there yet? Try pushing the pedal harder.

Do you want to talk on the phone? Fine. I’m fine with that. Can you juggle? Prove it. There are so many times in life where you have to be doing like 8 things at once. When you’re driving - that’s only ONE thing - can you do two things now, Timmy? I thought so. Just concentrate a little. Thanks. Perhaps there should be a test for that. You need to have a “MP” on your license for Mobile Phone. You have to drive the car through a series of cones and around some barriers, parallel park and be careful not to hit the goat that’s wandering around the course in a “Ho-Ho’s and Zebra Cakes” induced anaphylactic la-la land. All this while explaining the intracasies of “Click-this-then-click-that” or answering the “Where we’re eating tonite.” question.

When do you drive in the passing lane? If you’re PASSING someone. Not passing someone? Stay out. Not a hard concept. Hey, if we all do this, maybe we can keep that jerk doing 120mph with Cobb County tags from swerving all over 3 lanes of traffic just to get around your pokey ass. Pokey people, stay to the right.

That’s all for today.

Gracias.