This morning I was having a debate with myself, which, if you can believe it, happens pretty much simultaneously with any and all thoughts that pass through my mind. I mean, I wouldn’t call myself indecisive, just decisively challenged. And yes, there is a difference. Today’s debate-du-jour is whether or not it is acceptable to blog more than one time in a day. I often have this dilemma with twitter as well…how many tweets equals too much tweeting? (Because, clearly this happens: “We’re sorry Twitter is over capacity.” I blame all you crazy 50-tweet-a-dayers. Or, those of you who post 5 tweets in a row because you can’t fit it all within the specified character limit. You know who you are. Respect the limit.) That all to say, after having above mentioned thoughts (and yes, this was truly the order in which it occurred), I came to the conclusion that yes, blogging more than once in a day is acceptable, as long as said blogs are interesting, comical and relate an important story of some sort. The same I hold true for tweeting. (Although, I’ll make it known that I am probably going to tweet about doing laundry or cleaning or some other mundane task at some point in my tweeting career, and thus, the jury in my brain might still be up in the air about that one.)
Anyways, back to the point of my blog, which is to tell you a fantastic story about my first official bike ride around the city. After eating a delicious dinner my hubby made (which was some sort of philly cheese steak sandwich, minus the steak and hoagie, plus the shrooms and pita), we decided that it would be a great time for us to go for a ride since it is a little more quiet at night, less traffic, etc. So, we strapped on our helmets, sent our little back and front lights a-flashing and were on our way.
About two minutes in, I was surprised at how much I was liking it. I had a bike lane, PJ was fearlessly leading the way, no one had opened their car door on me–quite simply–it was bliss in the form of two wheels. Now, stoplights were really the only tricky part, especially when you had to take a left turn from a right-hand bike lane. I was also realizing that my dear PJ didn’t really like to stop at red lights (apparently this is what all the super cool bike riders do) or give me any indication at all if he was turning left (apparently this is what all the really dumb bike riders do–just kidding bubs I love you!). “Oh, we are going left? Then why are you turning right?” “Uhh, I like to take the turns wide.” “Why? It makes me think you are going the opposite direction.” “Come on let’s go! Fast!” This was the basis of most conversations at stop lights.
After awhile I was getting fairly used to wide-turn-Herring and even safely making my way through red lights, even if said red light only turned red after PJ went through the same light when it was yellow. Hmmmm…patience. We finally made our way to the Brooklyn Bridge, which was both one of the most frustrating and all the while satisfying portions of our ride. As most people know, and I will use the term “most” oh-so-loosely, the Brooklyn Bridge has two sides–a bike side and a pedestrian side. Why some people think the little white-painted man riding a bike-looking object is actually someone walking is quite confusing, unless of course they just think he is walking really really fast, perhaps like Tasmanian Devil fast. Though if that was the case, I would think they would get out of the way with much more speed. My dear hubby, upon seeing such a person in the bike lane pretty much rides directly at them with intense speed. “I aim right at them,” he slyly remarked. Indeed he does, so much so that he is forced to hop off of his bike at the last minute in an attempt to not run them over.
What an [insert your choice inappropriate word here], I can’t believe he would do such a thing, you might be thinking. And yes, while some of you might have a valid point, I must admit it is too much fun to be considered rude, especially when, they are without a doubt in the wrong. Other methods of pedestrian intimidation include yelling things such as “BIKE!” “WATCH OUT IDIOT!” “YOU ARE NOT THE TASMANIAN DEVIL!” etc. Such exclamations bring far more satisfaction then you would expect.
Another part of biking that was very unexpected: the other more intense or hipstered out bikers. Now this should have been a given. If I am on a bike, there are most likely others who also enjoy being on bikes. However, said other bikers are way more intense and go way faster then me (and in general are way cooler). At one point, a man wearing no helmet and with no flashing lights pulled up beside me. However, he instead had a very cool vintage bike, a very classy tweed jacket, some pretty killer brown shoes, and an amazing leather satchel. “Hmmm…” thought I, clad in my only then glaringly overwhelming white helmet, lights flashing away, “perhaps I should have gone with something a little more low profile.” Cool Biker: 4 points. Gillian: 0 Points. However, after mentally picturing the differences of an accident involving myself, or cool biker guy, I instantly regained all of those points. Sorry cool biker guy, my head is WAY more awesome than your satchel, though almost barely.
After riding around for quite some time, the Peej and I decided to head back to our beloved Brooklyn. (I was mostly inspired to continue knowing there was a Peanut Butter Gelato and Brownie sandwich awaiting us in the freezer from Bierkraft. There are no words.) I must admit, at this point I was feeling a bit cocky. I mean, I had ridden my bike around Manhattan, weaved through taxis (though ever so timidly), defeated hipster bikers in point games of my own creation, yelled at pedestrians in MY bike lane (though again fairly timidly), and succeeded in doing this all without getting hit or almost getting hit. Bom bom bom BOM.
However, before I could ride off with my satisfied bit of snobbery I encountered one of those yellow light/red light turns. You know the ones, where PJ makes it, and I just barely do. Well this time, let’s just say by barely I mean I may have been inches away from being hit, let out an unrepeatable phrase, proceeded to still turn in front of the car and of course didn’t speak to PJ until we were up in the apartment. Except for all that would come out were tears. Holy cow people I’ve never been that scared since I watched the preview of “2012”. The lesson learned: Always do what feels right for you. Never just follow the crowd. I think we can all agree on this one.