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I Ride My Bike To Work, And Yes, That Makes Me Better Than You

I Ride My Bike To Work, And Yes, That Makes Me Better Than You

Ah, the daily commute. Such a great time to listen to your favorite podcast hosts drone on about Game of Thrones or Miatas or whatever the fuck you listen to. In the summertime, the heat from thousands of exhaust pipes infiltrates your AC unit and lodges its chemicals deep inside your brain. In the winter, there is no sun to bring light and happiness to your life. You log thousands of hours on your car’s engine in idle, draining the life out of a dependable friend.

Or maybe you take public transportation. Nothing better than piling yourself into a sardine can that runs underground like a modern-day lemming parade. You’ll be standing there, squished in between miserable people, the smell of sweat and stale cigarettes permeating your clothing, and suddenly you’ll remember the definition of frottage.

There are other options. You can move to the middle of nowhere, for instance. Or, you can not suck at life and buy a bike. Yes, I ride my bike to work. And yes, that makes me better than you.

I’ve been a fan of the two wheel life for about as long as I can remember. I’m not the biggest fan of roadies – you won’t ever find me in spandex – but I get it. I’ve had a variety of different conveyances, from a brakeless 20-inch growler to my current rig, a hardtail 29er. Did all of that go over your head? Good. It’s part of the bike commuter lifestyle, we’re supposed to be dicks about it.

My morning and afternoon commutes are sometimes the best part of my day. The fresh air flowing through my hair, the nice light cardio, and breezing by all the suckers sitting in standstill traffic. Heck after I arrive with a little elevation in the heart rate, I hardly even need coffee. It’s a fantastic way to show up to work bright eyed and bushy dicked.

There are unforeseen benefits as well. My standing heart rate is way lower. My posterior, which didn’t need any help looking better, is now so perfect it’s been suggested that I be a stand-in for Jon Snow in his next nude scene (provided that I shave it and get a tan). The best part is that when Mrs. Icehouse asks if I can pick up something on the way home from work, the answer is always, “Haha, no.” So great not being helpful.

I haven’t even touched the environmental benefits of bicycle commuting, and since there are so many snowflakes that get triggered by scientific evidence of anthropogenic climate change, I’ll focus on something even morons can relate to: I save money on gas. Remember when all the folks in Texas freaked out about a gas shortage a few weeks ago? Didn’t affect me. I haven’t filled up my tank since July. I take that cash and spend it on the most important thing in the world: myself.

But what of after-work happy hours? Bro, if you haven’t ridden a bike drunk, you’re missing out on one of the better pleasures in life. You’re very unlikely to get pulled over on the way home. That’s a big one. But also you get a little workout that is only paralleled by a good drunken sprint. Getting home with a nice little buzz and a feeling of accomplishment is the absolute best motivator to keep the party going and get weekday wasted with your loser friends that got nothing better to do.

I realize this lifestyle isn’t for everyone. The vast majority of you are weak and/or cowards who can’t deal with the thought of leaving your prisons behind. And that’s fine, the world needs sheep too. But for the rest of us, there’s a really good way to be as great of a human being as me: buy a bike.

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Icehouse

International sailing champion and friend to most wolves. Except Larry, he knows what he did.

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