It's time to legalize it, it being the Idaho stop. And then maybe we can have some kind of politically fraught amnesty program. I'm mixing my issues here, but whatever. Bikes aren't cars. I'm confident that a country that can distinguish "talent" between ten melismatic wannabe karaoke idols, we're just capable of parsing the difference between a human-powered vehicle of thirty pounds and a multiton living room on wheels.
On my bike I get to hear snippets of conversations and it's always fun to assess that conversation and try to figure out if the totality of it would have been worth eavesdropping. Today I listened to a guy talking into his phone about his law school application. I wonder if he'll get in. He said his LSAT scores weren't where he wanted them to be, but the rest of his application was good. So, there's that.
Remember how yesterday I wrote all about patience? Well, I'm extraordinarily impatient when I'm hemmed in a bike lane by rows of stopped cars and I have a cyclist in front of me who I daren't pass due to lack of space and he's just riding so slowly that I'm tempted to abandon the bike lane, hoist my bike onto my shoulders, run down the sidewalk and remount at the next corner. I haven't actually done this. So far. Believe it or not, pedaling is an important part of making your bike go. A failure to do so shouldn't result in a quizzical gaze (this should be the title of a game show on LOGO), but instead a revivified interest in moving one's legs. People should ride at whatever speed they feel comfortable and our bike infrastructure should be able to accommodate cyclists' desire to pass.
At around Q and 7th, I noticed that the truck in front of me had a flat front right tire. I felt that it was my civic duty to inform the driver, which I did at the next light. He said that he knew about it, but thanked me anyway. He then made a joke (I think, because I didn't hear him clearly) about me doing it a block back. It wasn't like OMGLOLZ, but it was in a good fun and I laughed along. His passenger then suggested that I ride to work early tomorrow since it was going to be very hot. I explained, perhaps blatheringly, that if I adjusted my work schedule to avoid riding in the heat, I'd have to go in early and stay late and that's not really my cup of tea. I didn't actually say cup of tea, so as to avoid a cliche that might suggest I work as a butler at a large manor house. Not that that isn't a perfectly respectable career. (Have a domestic staff position you need filled? Email firstname.lastname@example.org. My skills include: knowing what a Roomba is, intermediate cufflink application, "blogging") Anyway, the light turned green, I said goodbye and good day and I set off down the road and with a bit of pace because I'd run out of things to say to the gentleman having already covered their flat tire and the weather. I'm not exactly a raconteur.
Q to Florida and Florida to First NE into the heart of NoMa, which is an entirely nonfictional neighborhood with a grocery store that I sometimes visit. I was emailed a list of items (by the Official Wife, not by the guy who wants me as his butler) and I stuck to the list and I even interpreted "bread" to mean "baguette," the bread type that is my biking bane. But what is life without challenges? After checking out I watched the baguette into my pannier that it poked out of the top but not so much. I was able to lift my leg well clear of it and got on the bike without pulling muscle or breaking the bread.
M Street to 4th NE to Stanton Park. There might have been a cyclist behind me who was trying to determine if I was worth passing, but he or she must've decided I wasn't. After Stanton, it was simple to get home and I did that.