19 August 2010
my first day bike communiting.
i was cleaning out my email and found this from last year, on my first day bike commuting (this is what i did prior to blogging... send random emails to my family):
I decided last night that, after 3 years of talking about it, I was going to become a true Seattleite: I was going to bike commute. I had my timbuk2 tote bag ready! My helmet and sunglasses! My spandex! The problems started when I couldn’t get my tote bag adjusted right… groggy Mike was little help. All the other cool bike commuters have their bags tightly cinched to their chest, and mine refused (inanimate objects are capable of such). Annoyed and hurried, I threw everything into a backpack (so dorky) and was out!
My route takes me along Stewart to Second. Both of these are under construction. Not awesome.
Upon realizing that I had no idea where the garage entrance was, I had to come in through the front doors, and take the elevator down with my bike (so uncool.) I got into the bike cages and taking out my lock, I found that they key had somehow gotten lost in the early morning bag switch. Darn it! Back in the elevators went I, switching to another elevator bank with a very nice young man from EY who wished me luck on my first day commuting and asked me if I had ever been hit by a car (really?)
I wheeled my bike into my office, hoping that it would be at least a little inconspicuous. (I did not make eye contact with anyone while I was wheeling in, and my bike does not wheel quietly. It clicks.) After resting my bike (which now takes up most of the walking room in my office), I went to the bathroom, and did the magic trick where one enters in Spandex and exits in a cardigan sweater and ballet flats. As I was applying makeup to my little red face (we all know how thin Irish skin handles physical activity) I thought to myself: This is what homeless people do. They get ready in strange bathrooms, out of a small bag, hoping that when they leave, they smell all right and no one notices.
On that note, I got a paper towel and tried to scrub some grease off my leg.
So now I sit, my bike resting comfortably in my office, my sense of self-righteousness riding high (I’m judging everyone who arrives to work already dressed), having to remind myself that I have to ride home (darn it again.) But I do feel like a more authentic Seattleite.