the anti dc's big adventure

Although I often purport myself as a crazed megolomanic, I do understand that this blog is not everyone's proverbial cup of tea. In fact, I get that some people probably can't even stand it. From what I can gather, some may think I waste too much energy complaining (I mean, for the love of pleated khakis, I find ways to complain about sunny, objectively awesome weather!). Others may hate my retardulous, yet incredibly clever turns of phrase (as well as my overusage of parentheticals). And still more may despise my ridiculously tight pants (both figuratively and literally -- behold that clever turn of phrase!). But if there's one aspect of life in DC that can transcend my sarcasm-backed cynicism and sick wordsmithing skills (and you can interpret "sick" as you please), it's this city's annoying public transportation system. Name me one person who hasn't had an adverse run-in with the DCPT, and I will seriously stop blogging. However, keep in mind that before you start pouring out your hateration -- that word will never die in my mind, thank you Mary J. -- by naming names, there's a high possibility that I simply won't believe you because DC's metro and buses objectively blow...hard.

So sick of the buses I am (wow, am I Yoda now?), that I recently began walking to and from work. And sadly, the 30-minute trek each way actually works out to encompass less time than it generally takes to wait for and then ride the bus that goes from Mt. Pleasant to Van Ness. For those of you wondering, that's exactly 2.1 miles, which according to Google maps (which we all know is the best -- true that, double true) should translate to exactly 6 minutes of driving time. Uh-huh.

But truthfully, I don't mind the walk. In fact, I actually like it. It makes me feel better about never utilizing that gym membership I've had attached to my key chain for, um, a year now. But sometimes, it does get long (that's what she said!). I mean, that's 60 minutes of my life each day spent walking to and from the office. That's valuable blogging time! (Read: I'm an enormous loser!) Or maybe 60 minutes during which I could spend trying to, you know, piece together at least a semblance of a real life. Or at a very minimum, take a nap.

And so, I've been brainstorming. I thought about investing in a scooter a while ago, but then I'd have to start going to the gym (I don't want to get scooter ass). Factoring in gym time, I think my commute would go well past one hour. So this leaves me with only one logical option -- hang-gliding bicycling.

That's right, e-friends, I've decided to buy a bike. Specifically, I'm looking to buy a secondhand road-bike, like this:


Or this:


Or this:

Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.*

I figure not only would this cut down on my commuting time, but it would also help me whip my literal and figurative ass into shape. I can already picture my sweatervests and I zipping around town, rolling to and from my office, ridin' dirty down to the Hill and impressing Norm Coleman, The Anti DC-appointed sexiest member of Congress, with my sweatiness fitness.

Oh yes, indeed, the time is nigh! I will put the pedal to the metal (dammit, just pretend that phrase has something to do with biking) seven days per week. I will cycle whether it's balmy and sunny or cool and rainy. And most importantly, I will ride dirty with my middle finger held high as I pass the 4,983 "Out of Service" buses and the suckers masses filing in and out of the underground. E-friends, it's time to ride or die.

But rest assured (I'm talking to you, Horace T), despite my newfound love of the 10-speed, I will not ride so dirty that I will flaunt any unnecessary ass-crack or love handles. I will not trade in my tight pants, for tight bike shorts. And most definitely, it will not end up in the basement of the Alamo...I hope. Who's with me?! Um, anyone???

*Bike shots courtesy of Bulldog Bike Restoration.