enjoyed biking in the past. I should do more, but it’s tough on my knees. What I don’t enjoy is bikers being assholes, and I get that a lot by my office.

There’s a guy who takes up a whole car lane and tries to take up a part of another as he pedals to work, which he does from about mid may to late september. i catch him about two days a week. he’s very arrogant about it and will slow down if a line of cars get behind him. he wears bike stuff but has (I assume) his work attire in a backpack.

There is, not ten feet away, a sidewalk where there are often other bikers. I’m sure there is some ordinance or another but the most of the bikers use the sidewalk because this little stretch of road is 45 mph and a bike on the street is just a hazard to everyone.

Not this guy. He has to use up the street and he has to be anb ass about it.

Today, I caught him on my way in, and others were obvously as dismayed as I was. he’s ahead of me, and the Subaru behind me zooms ahead to pass, and a stretch limo pulls up alongside.

And then, something magical happens, something i will giggle about all day long. The subaru slows down to keep pace with the biker, and the stretch limo hangs close alongside. I am stuck, there’s nothing I can do but follow and watch.

And then we drive by ConAgra. Conagra keeps their grass nice and green, and since there are often watering bans they have a retention pond from whence the water is drawn. It smells like carp poop, and the grass is always very nice. The lawnscape guys aren’t as good about lining up the sprayers as they could be, though.

The subaru comes to almost a complete stop- his right tires actually touching the curb on the right, and the limo nosedives too, his bumper millimeters away from the subaru’s driver door. I stop to so as not to hit the biker.

Who is sitting on his bike under the full force of a sprinkler. The kind meant to water an entire acre of lawn by itself. The subaru actually puts his car in park, you can see the backup lights flash on for a second. the curb here is about ten or twelve inches tall, you can’t hop up it easily on a bike, and we sit there. The radio is playing that Gotye song, and we sit threough most of it before the Subaru puts it in gear and takes off, the biker swearing and gesticulating wildly but now soaking wet. The biker comes alongside the subaru and pounds on the window but the driver ignores him.

Only the arrival of a big box of doniuts can make today any better.