Perhaps some of you are aware that I’ve led a monogamous relationship with my bicycle, Her Majesty the Cannondale for nearly three years now. I’ve always prided myself on how good of a bike she is. Sure, it’s a big investment to have a bicycle, but I figure it’s a better use of money than having a girlfriend – but I digress.
Her Majesty has stood by me through the best and worst of rides. She was an excellent companion on a majestic ride along the Monterey coast last autumn when I wanted to go along the 17 Mile Drive, and she stood by me after a car hit us. Yes, she has been a lovely bike… And I left her behind to go a chase a crazy dream out East.
Where am I going with this and why am I telling it to you? Yesterday I had a brief run-in with the law that has convinced me to come clean about a few things – firstly said run-in:
On an excruciatingly long trip to a vegetarian restaurant my RA wanted to go to, we gave a little love tap to the car in front of us. We were going all of two miles per hour, but we knew we had to pull over to access the situation; however, the people we hit didn’t seem to be aware of such things, but rather turned on their hazards and fully intended on sitting in the middle of a four lane freeway during Jersey rush-hour traffic… I am no expert, but I think that’s how you get yourself shot.
Several minutes of cars honking at us later, we both arrived at the shoulder. In my experience it is common for people to get out of their car and access damage, exchange information, be on their separate ways, but once again I was operating under different paradigms than the car ahead of us. Our driver did look at our vehicles and noted that no damage was done, not even to the paint, and so he patiently awaited this driver to get out of their car… for twenty minutes. Eventually I was elected to go and make contact as our least threatening member. Not wanting to get maced, I approached the car as contritely as possible. “Are you two alright?” I asked, only receiving an indifferent nod in reply. I slouched back to our car. Twenty minutes pass. I go again to see what they’d like us to do. “We’re waiting for the police,” the passenger informs me. I slouch back again. Twenty more minutes pass. The police officer is friendly albeit perplexed at his call, since no damage has been done. We leave and eventually dine upon mock-meat products.
All of this to say, I’ve realized that I need to come clean! I am leading a double life! Whilst living in this place:
Bryan, my suitemate
I have fallen into a new bicycle relationship with this beauty:
Her name is Yoshimi, and while she is a little older than Her Majesty, I’ve enjoyed her company a great deal.
Some of my friends here have rationalized this new relationship as my being in a ‘different zip code,’ but I can’t get over my need to share this double life with you…
…Or at least my desire to show you some sweet pictures of where I live.