I must have been feeling especially persecuted when I left work since I had various Les Miserables medleys going through my head. I'm bike commuter 24601.
Nothing much doing through Georgetown. A little chain slippage, but I think I'll be able to get that checked out tomorrow.
I decided to take the Custis instead of going up Wilson. I slowed down to drink some water (I was parched), when a fellow cyclist said "Passing Left." I had drifted over a little, so when I moved myself back towards the right I said "Sorry, mate." Mate. Yeah, that's right. This isn't the first time I've said mate while on a bicycle. I don't know what that's all about, but if you ever see a guy on a bike and he call you mate, he's not some Australian- just a jackass who can't help himself.
Anyway, my "mate" inspired to me pedal a little faster. You know, cat 6 style. That was all well and good for a little, but to paraphrase a war criminal, you ride home with the legs you've got, not the legs you want. Not only didn't I catch up, I was passed by a cyclist my wife would refer to as a "super-biker"- you know, with the whole matching team outfit. By the time I left the Custis, I was thoroughly beat.
The bike lanes on Quincy past the high school are sandier than the Gobi. Street sweeping soon, Arlington?
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