This weekend I am participating in a charity bicycle ride. This is hilarious on several levels: primarily the "charity," "bicycle," and "ride" levels. (The "participating" level is pretty funny too.)
I've got my trusty old REI bicycle, an aftermarket memory-foam seat designed to stave off groin-numbness, an iPhone full of motivational music (mostly A Night at the Hip-Hopera on repeat), some ugly pink battery-powered speakers from Best Buy, some ugly "for kids" handlebar pouch to hold the speakers and my keys and wallet, the cool Schwinn helmet I bought back when I was briefly the custodian of Mateo's Target bike, a weird eyeglass-mounted rearview mirror that's probably more distracting than it is helpful^1^, a tight-fitting (and consequently gut-enhancing) bike jersey with rear elastic pockets that feel too unfamiliar to trust, the completely-inappropriate-for-serious-cycling Keen sandals I trekked all over India in, and a huge variety of performance-enhancing drugs like Singulair and Benadryl and Claritin. My goal is to ride 50 miles on the first day and 300 miles on the second, although I also have secondary goals of not getting hit by any trucks and not getting car-doored.
If I don't come back, avenge my death.
\ 1. The first time I tried it, all the people I was riding with asked me how I liked it. "Well," I offered, "you know how sometimes you get an extra sense and it takes a while for your brain to figure out how to integrate its inputs with your pre-existing sensory data?" Not a transhumanist in the bunch, it turned out, and so they all looked at me like I was crazy.\