Riding a bike to work pt. 1 - The fatness
(READ Riding a bike to work pt. 2 - The crampening)
Last weekend I bought a bike. I didn't intend on buying this particular bike, it was just sitting in the rack at Goodwill, but it was only $29 and I'm a sucker for a good thrift store deal. The tires, or as the Brits would say, tyres, were rotting away with age, but the bike itself looked to be in relatively great shape for a 1980s vintage road bike; a pretty blue color with blue-wrapped curly handlebars. A Kabuki, made by Bridgestone.
(Total investment: $29)
Now, I am not what you would call an athletic man. I used to be, back in my school years, but these days I live the life of a desk-bound programmer who likes to drink beer on weekends and eat out regularly. Your metabolism slows, you play sports less and less and pretty soon you're an XXL who gets out of breath taking the stairs to the top of the parking garage to get to your car. That's me.
Inspired by my friend Nick here at the Spokesman and my former co-worker Andrea (aka, the Fat Girl on a Bike), I figured I could probably ride my new bike to work. After all, at heart I'm a hippie with an intense dislike for the oil industry and all of their world-destroying shenanigans, so maybe riding a bike is my own particular idiom. I could stand to lose a few pounds also, so it's like a win-win situation.
The local bike shop
The first issue I ran into was the aforementioned crusty flat tires. I haven't changed a bicycle tire since I was 12 or 13, and never on one of these skinny road bikes with the curly handlebars. Both Nick and Andrea recommended the Two Wheel Transit local bike shop in the Perry District here in Spokane, conveniently located only a few blocks from my fiancée's house, so on Saturday I brought the bike over for them to tinker with.
You couldn't ask for a nicer day for bike riding than that Saturday and I naively believed that the bike would be in and out of the shop and we'd be on our way riding around the neighborhood, enjoying the springtime air alive and in love. But a work ticket and a "it'll be ready by Tuesday" later made me wave goodbye my dreams of putting in few miles of rubber to the pavement.
As it so happens, "it'll be ready by Tuesday" can stretch into "we're looking for a part" and a pick up on Thursday because your bike is a pretty blue 1980s vintage road bike that went out of production when you were but a wee lad and the parts are scarce to find. They eventually found the bolt they needed, and $102 later my lovely betrothed picked up the bike for me while I was still at work.
(Total investment: $131)
Nick had given me a little green Washington Bicycle Law pamphlet, so I was now familiar with the laws. Watch out you, I'm "taking" the lane! [RCW 46.61.770] Spokane also has a helmet law, so last night I swung into the Fred Meyer over by Freya and bought a helmet, a bike lock and some lights.
(Total investment: $166)
This morning was the morning. Friday, April 24th in the year of our Lord 2015. I have my helmet and my bicycle is ready to go (I can hear it humming slightly in the background, although in hindsight, that was probably my roommate's bedroom fan.) I even have a little red messenger bag I've had for a while to stash my stuff in.
I AM A BICYCLER NOW!
My plan was to ride from my hovel in Hillyard, down Market, over Indiana (with its pretty view and its convenient bicycle lane) and then meet up with the Centennial Trail down by Avista, which would lead me practically to the SR's front doorstep.
The ride
So there's one thing about riding with traffic if you've never done it before: IT'S TERRIFYING! The cars are going by going rawr and the giant semi trucks are going by going rawrrrrrrrrrr and my undergarments are in danger of getting stained rawr and OH MY GOODNESS, I'VE ONLY GONE 3 BLOCKS.
Once I hit the bike lanes it was easier, but dear me, the seat on this 1980s vintage road bike is quite... vintage. And these pretty blue-wrapped curly handlebars don't leave much room for comfort, as I can feel every pothole and pebble, every dip and every dot rattling up through my pudgy little hands and wrists and up into my helmeted skull.
Making it to the bike trail made the proceedings much easier. Nice and smooth pavement, no more cars to intimidate with my manly bike riderly physique, lots of old ladies in skin tight yoga pants, giant sunglasses and little schnauzer looking pups. Up and over the bridge across Hamilton and I'm almost home free.
One complaint: Once you make it to the downtown Eastern Washington University campus, across the Gonzaga bridge (a bridge that I didn't even know existed!), there are no signs saying "Centennial trail this way, idiot -->", which would have been nice. As it was, I cut through the campus, past the nursing school, and got back onto the main road that immediately turns into Walt Worthy's convention center construction zone-o-rama. I don't know where the Centennial trail is at this point, but Spokane Falls is my regular driving commute so I at least know how to get to work. It appears that there is a bike lane here, but I'm not 100% certain because the white paint is gone. I see bits and specs of it as I ride along, but at this point I'm focused only on getting off this stupid bicycle, and the only way that is happening is if I finish these last few blocks of road.
At last, I come to the intersection in front of the Spokesman-Review and srsly guys, this intersection sucks. It sucks for everyone, but wow, it really sucks when you're tired and your tires are in 10th gear and you get the red light and you can barely push yourself forward when it turns green and there are a hundred cars behind you.
Finally, the end. When I get off my bike and try to open the door and shove this God-forsaken thing through at the same time. Inside our production facility there are two things that look appealing to me at this point: the bike rack, wherein I can lash my steed, and the sweet sweet couch nearby where I can sit and recuperate and contemplate the mistake I have made, knowing that sometime later today I must ride my 1980s vintage road bike into the sunset.
I hear the buses have bike racks on the front.
