Today is National Bike to Work Day!
I was honked at by cars and given the thumbs-up by a middle-aged Soccer Mom ensconced in her SUV. Upon arrival at my building, all the good bike racks were overcrowded and nearby parking meters were claimed as well.
National Bike to Work Day is stupid.
Things observed on Saturday’s 50.5 mile ride from North Park to Solana Beach and back: a baby rattlesnake with a very full belly; Muslim women in full chador playing Ultimate Frisbee in Mission Bay Park; a lonely, shivering hatchling (species unknown) in a scrawny nest perched on the side of a public restroom; old, slow people on ridiculous $3000 bicycles; unfortunate spandex on said old people; hyperactive children playing an impromptu game of ‘jump up and down the two stairs’ inside Pizza Port; and an overly tan, disturbingly skinny Del Mar trophy wife jogging along the PCH with her comically-oversized, DD implants bound to her chest by the craziest sports bra I have ever seen.