On The Commute:
Brought to you by Jiff. Choosy moms and endurance athletes alike enjoy.
I went to bed in Bloomfield, NJ and woke up in Portland, OR. The only thing missing was really good pot and droves of nose-in-the-air cyclists pedaling about, going on with their lack of carbon footprint shit.
I remember months of riding through the indecisive shit better known as mist when I lived in California. Of all the things I miss about the bay area, mist was not one of them. You can’t pick the weather you ride in when you commute. Just mount up and start riding. The weather is warm enough where I figure I can go light. No arctic wear today. I like the days during the cold season where I don’t have to go all “Matthew Henson” just to get to work. To stay in character with the theme of the day, I passed on my usual truck stop coffee and went over to Starbucks. Nothing beats good coffee on days better suited to shoot loads of heroin and listen to the demo tracks of northwestern 90’s bands.
I go for my fix. A simple cup of coffee. A small cup which is considered a tall. Nothing fancy, just water and beans. Keep your fucking froth out of my cup! People are really interesting. You can learn a lot about a person from how they handle themselves at the condiments table. I’m prepping my coffee with a young lady right next to me. She breaches my invisible personal space line. My 38th Parallel of sorts. I don’t say anything. I let her slide. She does it again. Now I’m looking dead at her. A simple head butt would get the message across, but then she throws me for a loop by straightening up a spill she had made. She has a sense of personal responsibility, just no social skills. Doesn’t have to be an either/or proposition. She’s probably very skillful with computers and pets.
I mount up coffee in hand and start pedaling on my seldom used route through Montclair. I have my blinkers on. Essentially I was riding with my hazards on not for the weather but because I didn’t want any irrational vehicular moves to interfere with my java enjoyment.
Visibility was horrible. 200 yards. Not like I’m moving that quickly where I would have to break out the radar to guide me in, but I enjoy seeing the road that leads to my 40 hour little piece of sunshine I like to affectionately refer to as hell.
Got to work damp. I took a second to shake out my fur and then hung up the Lycra to get nice and toasty just in time to do it again.