Pickup Lines for Bikers

So I biked home today. Today was not the worst of DC humidity, for sure. But it was a little sticky out there. I had just biked up 18th Street at a fast pace. I was slightly out of breath, my heart rate soaring. My tank top, slightly sweaty. I rounded the corner at Columbia Road and came to a stop sign. I was feeling athletic and sporty. Beyonce had just finished singing Irreplaceable on my ipod. All around, the moment was empowering.

And then, just as I caught my breath at the stop sign, I hear...

"Hey baby, can I have a ride?"

I turn to look. I am not excited at what I see. But, I have to admit, it was flattering. I smile one of those "in your dreams" kind of smiles and, just as I stand up on the pedals, giving myself a good boost of speed, I sarcastically say, "Yeah, sure!"

I speed away, never to see Creepy Stop Sign Guy again.

As I biked home, I thought, couldn't he have thought of anything better? I mean, really. There have to be about a million cheesy pickup lines in my head right now, all having to do with bikes. I won't list them here (children read this) but seriously. You've got handlebars, water bottles with nozzles, soft seats, hard seats, peaks, straps, curves, tune-ups, saddles, mirrors, the concept of going down, lubes, tubes, helmets... ok, maybe not helmets. But you get the idea. "Hey baby, can I have a ride," will not impress me.

Seriously?

It's one of those internal monologue phrases I say constantly. Sometimes I find myself just staring at people and, in my head, repeating over and over, "Seriously?" Like, is she seriously talking on her cell phone that loudly? Or, is he seriously scratching his crotch right now? (Both examples, by the way, happen all too often on the 42).

Now that I'm all hardcore and biking to work, I don't have as many reasons to question people's behavior. I think it's simply because I have less time to fully observe the psychoses that surround me on the bus. Because, you know, I'm on a bike. Going a lot "faster." And I have to actually "pay attention" to the "moving cars." Yada yada, etc.

Anyway, I did have a "seriously" moment today. As I'm coasting down to work, a biker passes me on a road bike. This is normal. Road bikes are faster than mountain bikes. I accept that. But it was his outfit that intrigued me. At first, I thought it could be Lance, which, you know, would be amazing. But, no, definitely not Lance. So why was he dressed like Lance?

Was there a triathlon today? A race of some kind? No, my friends, there was not. And he was definitely not the first multi-colored spandexed biker I've seen.

I mean, really, A) where do these people get these biker outfits, B) where do they get the balls to wear actually them, C) now that I think about it, where are their balls? and D) where could they possibly be going?

Don't get me wrong, I fully understand the concept of aerodynamics. But, in the middle of the city? In rush hour? I can't imagine showing up for work dressed like I just finished the Tour de France. Well, there might be one exception. And that would be Halloween, people.

I really do want to know more about these super intense, overly decked out, wannabe Lance's. Just roll up your pant leg like the rest of us! I mean, seriously.

Panties

Yes, I said it. I said "panties."

I really hate that word. Ever since Billy Baldwin said it in Sliver. You know, that infamous scene in the restaurant? It was never the word itself, but the way he said it. "And the panties?" Ack, I can barely even type it. I'm actually squishing up my face right now, that's how disturbing it is to me.

Ok, moving on. Oh, Jesus, not moving on yet. So I just looked up Sliver on Amazon, and you know what the "Plot Keywords" are for the movie, according to the site? As in, if you weren't sure what movie you wanted to buy, but you had a few general themes in mind, these words would lead you directly to Sliver. Wait for it... 1. Female Nudity, 2. Kissing, 3. Female Detective, 4. Pedophile, 5. Telescope, 6. Stabbing, 7. Sex Talk, 8. Beautiful Woman, 9. Male Nudity, 10. Knife, 11. Shooting and 12??? You know what the final keyword is? PANTIES.

Anyway, the whole reason I bring this up is because, on my bike ride into work today, I noticed the first of what is sure to be many hurdles in this new found passion of mine. Yep, you guessed it. Panties.

When it comes to jeans, women tend to wear low riders. When you're walking, or even sitting, it's fairly easy to pull them up when necessary. However, when you're flying downhill on a mountain bike, trying to catch the green light so you don't have to start pedaling again from a standstill, it's nearly impossible to perform the casual "pull up."

To the many cars, pedestrians and most especially to the bus patrons that may have traveled behind me today, I say this. I am very, very sorry for the somewhat inappropriate showing of my panties this morning. I am embarrassed and ashamed. But, at the same time, I hope you enjoyed the pink and white stripes.

On a Break

Oh, this is hard. So I got a bike recently, and even more recently built up the courage to ride it through city traffic. So, for now at least, I am taking a break from the bus. I am also taking a break from drama, alcohol and sex.

These are all very extreme choices, I know. However, I don't propose that any of them are permanent. Or even completely under my control. Like if it snows, for example.

In any case, I was riding to work on my badass mountain bike (that's right, you heard me) when I felt a car approaching from behind at a really aggressive speed. I look over my shoulder and notice that it's a Z3. I am not impressed. So I continue, riding steadily along the right side of the road. He eventually passes me, all like "I'm the shit, get out of my way bike girl." I let him pass and watch as he speeds down 19th street.

Cut to five seconds later. Angry Z3 man is stuck behind a line of cars at the light. I pass him in my little makeshift bike lane. I give him a little smile. And I'm sure I made it to work before he did.

I still don't know why people have cars in this city.

Unfaithful

I never thought I'd do it. I never thought I'd stoop low enough to rationalize it. But today, I almost cheated. I almost cheated on the 42.

I was running late. It's become my m.o., unfortunately. I waited at my stop, stared at a few people (unbeknownst to them of course), read the top fold of the Post through the dispenser, fiddled with my "Recently Added" playlist and got my $1.25 ready. Finally, at long last, a bus appeared in the distance. Through the hazy sunshine, I saw its top approach. As it got closer, I realized it wasn't my beloved 42. It was a ... wait for it... H1.

I'm familiar with the H1. It's a rush hour bus with a limited schedule. Not as popular as the 42. of course. Believe it or not, it used to be my "bus of choice" back in the day when I worked a few blocks over. But today, it seemed like a scandal.

Do I board, I thought? Do I cheat on the 42 and abandon stability for a single morning? I didn't consciously want to do it, but it was so tempting. The H1 is actually a little faster (because it avoids the Circle), it's aesthetically pleasing, and, let's be honest, it gets the job done. Thoughts of the past filled my head. Never once did I want for a seat. So comfortable. So secure. And all those special mornings, when it came right on time...

But just when I was about to abandon my morals and step up into that bus, I thought, no. The 42 is probably right around the corner. Wait for it.

So I did. And you know what? I got to work exactly on time.

Three-legged Dog

As I stood at the bus stop this morning, I noticed a dog crossing the street with his owner. The dog had three legs, two in the front and one in the back. His owner pulled him by a leash across the crosswalk. The dog could barely keep up, hobbling frantically behind.

For reasons I won't go into, thoughts of confusion and sadness plagued me this morning. As I was sinking deeper and deeper into a mild state of depression, I noticed this dog. And I thought, "Well, despite all my troubles, at least I'm not a three-legged dog."

I felt a little better after that.

42 Tries to Kill Me

Unfortunately, I did not take the bus today. Believe it or not, I've been really looking forward to it. In this heat, are you kidding? Any opportunity to travel in some AC is just unbeatable. Well, I take that back. Laying on the beach would definitely beat AC on the bus. But, since I must go to work (I gots the bills), I prefer to show up not looking like a drowned rat. You understand.

However, today was different. I had an off-site meeting in a building very close to my apartment. It was quicker to walk and, since I was running late, that's what I did. And, boy, did I sweat. It was really sexy.

Anyway, as I crossed Columbia Road, at a crosswalk I'd like to point out (eh hem), a 42 practically ran me over. It's true. I saw him at that stop sign. The bastard. When I noticed him, he was just closing his door. Already a few steps into the road, I went for it. Any regular pedestrian in DC knows that you just have to, especially at the really busy intersections. There is no time for hesitation.

I swear to you, before I could blink, the bus was two feet from my head. I repeat, two feet from my frickin' head. I walked as fast as I could, but all the stuff for the meeting was weighing me down. The driver, now almost in the crosswalk, was pissed that he had to stop.

I gave him a look and scurried across, which, incidentally, caused me to sweat even more. Again, sexy.

I curse the 42 today. Trying to kill me is totally not cool. After all that I've given you!

Early and Out of It

It is rare that I arrive at work early, especially on a Monday. But today required me to do just that. So, promptly at 7:30, I closed the door to my apartment. It was really frickin' early. My body was in shock. I honestly cannot recall one funny thing that happened on the bus today. Around 10 this morning, after a tall "bold" from Starbucks, I thankfully regained consciousness. More to come tomorrow.

Angry Young Career Women

All too often, I see the same person. Not literally the same person, but, you know, that person. The woman who boards the bus in a rush, as if walking faster down that aisle will get her to work sooner. She sits down at the first available seat, blackberry in hand, and immediately starts emailing. You wonder how she hits the keypad accurately. She is carrying a "Journal" (to the lay person, this means the Wall Street Journal) under her arm, a grande latte in the other hand. She sports a darkly colored, conservative outfit. She is beyond uptight. She is wearing sunglasses, not because it's sunny on the bus, but because she probably has no realization that they are still on her head. She is skinny, and stiff. She is zoned out. She is... wait for it... the DC career woman.

I saw such a woman on the bus today. She sat down across from me, completely unaware of what was around her. She frantically entered digits and letters into her blackberry. She never looked up. She was wearing a black dress and tennis shoes. She was, let me tell you, H... O... T... hot.

(Disclaimer, the previous sentence was meant to convey sarcasm, because, as much as I try, I cannot imagine this level of anxious energy and rigidness being attractive.)

In fact, I wondered how women like that get dates. How do you enter into relationships with people, romantic or otherwise, when you don't even look them in the eye? How do you go out to dinner if conversation is constantly being interrupted by a vibrating mobile, um, thing?

As I contemplated these thoughts, simultaneously thanking the lord I am not like this, I felt the sudden urge to throw something at her. I don't know why, but I became really frustrated. I wanted to shake her and say, "Wake up, you self-absorbed little snot. There is life to be lived! Put down the blackberry and pick up an ipod!"

I wanted to be the Julia Roberts to her Richard Gere. But then I thought, that'd be a little weird. A, I'm not a prostitute, and B, I'm not gay. But man, if I could've run her toes through the grass this morning, I think the world would be a better place.