According to German safety laws, a bicycle must have two operating handlebar brakes.
Get to class after the best bikes are taken. Resign yourself to sit between the Heavy Sweater and the Noisy Grunter. If the only available bike is next to the Peppy Chatter, abort the mission altogether.
You can understand why they have the shoes and the special shorts with the butt pad. That all makes sense. But do you really need the head-to-toe regalia? And the helmet? The unitard?!
Every time I see a “Share the Road” bumper sticker I think, “Really? Then perhaps you ought to share the cost.”
And it was coming at me full speed. I hit the brakes hard.
My bike struggled at first. The chain was on its last legs from its years being chained outside my apartment in the city.
2. Smell a rose.
I realized through all of this that it didn’t matter if I ran a red light or stopped for it, whether I sat behind a line of slow moving cars or wove between them, whether I passed a bus on the left or on the right. Drivers were going to hate my presence no matter what.
Take it easy on the “scaring bikers” to teach them a lesson or whatever you are trying to do when you gun your motor past us or purposely drive really close to us, trying to freak us out. This isn’t Death Race.
Commuting by bike is also lonely in practice and socially alienating. While others get ready to go out, walk together to the subway or bus stop, maybe catch a cab, talk, laugh and show up looking the way they left the house, I travel alone and arrive sweaty.