I guess my own personal Bike-o-Rama August started on August 1st, but I didn’t know it then.  That Friday, I took my Little bike riding.  I’m trying to emphasize non-consumer-focused activities, and bike riding is one of our favourites together. We biked from Sandpoint past Matthew’s Beach and back.  It was then I decided that the rest of August would be dedicated to seeing how much I could make my bike my main form of transportation. I’ve taken the bike to work before, but starting Monday, I would be seriously commuting by bike.

Saturday, I rode from my place to the University District to get some lights and a gear problem looked at.  I rode to Gasworks park to meet my friends Erica and Eva, and a bike festival was going on in the park. Not seriously, I took that as a good omen of my newly determined hardcore hobby.  Turns out, Eva just got a bike too, and needed a bike buddy!  Perfect.  After a bit, Erica went to go sailboating (as people are want to do in these parts) and Eva and I fetched her bike from Phinney Ridge and headed downtown to meet up with other friends for The Dark Knight at The Big Picture.  After that, I rode from Belltown to Justin’s place in lower Queen Anne, and even ran into (not literally) Andy along the way.  Biking is great!  All was well.  I was feeling really prepped for Monday’s commute.

So, along rolls Monday.  My ride into work is swell. I scoff at a hipster on a fixie along my way (internally, anyhow). I feel like a hardcore bike commuter.  I got up Pine Street!  Booyah!

(Warning: graphic description of DOOM)

Ride home: not so much.  Down on Westlake I attempt crossing the SLUT tracks (South Lake Union Trolley, for those not in Seattle) and totally biff it into the street.  TOTALLY BIFF IT.  FIRST DAY.  OMG.  A hipster on a fixie comes to my rescue.  IRONY.  I peel myself off the pavement and into the timely #17 bus (Patron Saint of all Wonderful Bus Lines). The pain… oh the pain… like a good geek, I twitter to keep my mind off the stinging as oxygen starts hitting raw areas on my legs.  Noticing high heeled girls on the bus giving me looks, my attention is brought to the fact that blood is making two little paths down my leg from my knee.  The pain. Off the bus. Pain. Up the hill. Pain. Limp into the condo. Pain.  Gingerly, I peel my clothes off and lower myself into the tub, then realize that my left leg is lacerated in several places on my thigh, and my knee looks like a large peeled blood grapefruit (but with real blood). I also sport a huge oval grease mark intersecting with the deepest part of the wound on my left knee.  My right leg looks like it has gills.  There’s more bruises starting to show up than unknown relatives after a lottery win.

I pour that stinging anti-bacteria stuff all over, and hold back on crying like a baby.  I nearly loose it when I realize I have to dig the grease out of my knee unless I want an impromptu involuntary tattoo. This was the really painful part, especially because it seemed to take forever. I clean a sharp pair of scissors and scrape as much of the grease out of my wound as I can stand to, then sit in the tub, whimpering a bit.  My kitty meows and tries to comfort me from the edge, fearing water yet very obviously concerned. Oh yeah, I’m a hardcore biker.  Riiiight.  I’m also Barack Obama.

Can’t wait for Day 5 - but I think I’m wearing pants instead of shorts tomorrow.

MORAL(s) OF THE STORY:

1.) The SLUT is a cruel mistress, and not to be trusted.  If you must cross the tracks, try to hit it at a ninety degree angle exactly.  I was close, but not close enough, and my tire got lodged in the track.  Newtonian physics does the rest.

2.) Always carry change for the bus. Don’t leave home without it.

3.) Like Han Solo says, “Don’t get cocky, kid!”

4.) Don’t judge the hipster on the fixie. They don’t all hit drivers with U-locks in the back of the head.