Tales of Failure and Frustration: Commuting Edition

Part One: Getting To Work.

After a few sweaty hours on the trainer, I headed out to work on my commuter bike. I generally take the esplanade (which comes with its own set of irritants that I will inevitably detail in a later post) but because of the recent snolocaust and Bostons subsequent inability to hire competent plow-monkeys to remove it, I have been forced to ride up (cue ominous music) Commonwealth Avenue.

This does not usually put me in a good mood.

What made this morning special was the fact that I was stranded behind the Worst Cyclist Of All Time. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I can say with some certainty that after much debate and peer review, she has finally been found. Besides being a walking cliche - janky singlespeed conversion, tiny shorts, tights, knee socks, no helmet and more scarves than the 4th doctor - she literally failed at riding. This jackass had absolutely no business operating anything sharper than a pillow or more complicated than a tub of ice cream.

Unfortunately, on Comm ave during College Kid Wake Up and Shamble to Class Time, there is no way to lose anyone unless you are prepared to take on a level of risk completely disproportionate to the reward.

So I was stuck. I would get ahead, slow down for a red light, then be promptly and unceremoniously shoaled. Sometimes, I would even get the dreaded Hipster Look (like The Look sans pathos). Watching her wobble though a red light with one foot dragging on the ground, her bike shaking like a patient on Dr. Katz's couch, I prayed for the statistically inevitable, but alas Boston drivers were more vigilant than usual and neglected to deliver.

I was able to get around again, this time on the BU bridge, but once again fate (this time shaped like a UPS truck parked almost perpendicular to traffic) would intervene. I waited, patiently, for a gap between cars to open so I could continue up the street. Awesome Single Speed Girl sees Bike Racer Guy waiting like a chump, thinks "Aha! This is my chance to show him how good at life I am!"

Can you guess what happened next?

Hmmmm?


Yeah, so the retard in the tights thought she could thread the needle between the UPS truck and the parked cars. However, what little prefrontal cortex existed in that unprotected head of hers must have cried foul: at the last moment, she tried to stop.

But wait! Lo and Behold: Brakes are for Squares! At an incredibly low rate of speed, with all the grace of a frat kid driving home from a super bowl party, the goofball wedged herself between a parked car and the cab of the truck. I could hear, but not see, her attempts to free herself.



My commute went much more smoothly (though with perhaps 30% less hilarity) after that.