Thursday, July 3, 2008

creepy dudes and deadly pants -- a tale of one bike ride

Yesterday was a pretty harrowing day and I blame the ferocious Goose of Justice.

There I was cruising along on Baguette down Connecticut Ave. when mid-gear shift, Baguette's derailleur failed and her chain slipped off the chainring, wedging itself between the chainstay and the cassette. (And yes I did just Google a bike anatomy map to figure that out...)

Anyway, as I went to retrieve the chain and reposition it in place, the Goose of Justice rained its terror down upon me. With its talons out (I imagine the GoJ is some sort of hybrid super goose with claws), I cut my left index finger -- my F*ck You! finger, if you will -- on my bike's pie plate. Now, without going into gratuitous detail, as I'm sure I might have just lost about 90 percent -- roughly two individuals -- of the readers of my meandering drivel by now, I'll point you to my favorite bike blog's explanation of what the pie plate is if you're so inclined. But to summarize, the pie plate is apparently the pocket protector of the cycling world. Ridin' nerdy!

Alas, however, with blood starting to drip down the backside of my hand, two helpful gentlemen ran to my aid to save me from this vicious GoJ attack. (That, in and of itself, is pretty miraculous, as DC is often quite rude.) Not only did one of them give me all of his napkins he had in his Chinese takeout bag to tend to my wounds, but they both got down on their knees and fixed my sh*t up right. I thanked both men profusely, offering them back the napkins that I didn't sully with Baguette's grease and my own blood and apologized for getting their hands dirty. And here's where (of course) things got creepy: "It's OK," said one of the men. "Now my hands match my mind." Did I mention he was definitely wearing rapist glasses? 'Cause he was.

And so I continued with Baguette, leaving rapist glasses in the proverbial dust. But then incident deux happened. I was ridin' nerdy and dirty (um, literally) down through Woodley Park when I almost died. This time, at fault wasn't a dorky bike accoutrement, but instead my very own pants, which got caught up in the greasy teeth of Baguette's chainring.

"But your pants are always so tight (literally and figuratively!), how in the world did that happen?"

Almost regrettably now, I purchased a pair of loose-legged trouser jeans not long ago during a trip out to Potomac Mills. With DC's sticky summers, I thought I'd give a different style jean a whirl, which worked out well on my ride to work, but completely failed on my way home. In an instance of sweet justice, however, my theory on why tight pants are better than loose pants was proven, albeit through a near-death experience. That is, had I been wearing tight pants, or, um, no pants (chafe!), this second harrowing incident never would've happened.

When the gratuitous fabric surrounding my ankle got caught up in the hot mess of greasy chain, I swerved dangerously into an intersection, before miraculously stopping myself on the curb with my left leg, my free leg, once again damning the GoJ. I negotiated my stupid loose pants out of danger using the pie-plate approved tight-roll method and continued on...this time a bit scared. But finally, I made it home, visibly shaken, but with pants and spirit (mostly) intact.

Traumatized. Still wearing the deadly pants in question. Baguette cowers in the hallway, hiding her pie plate of shame. (Unnecessary Explanation Sidebar: My place is messy because I'm cleaning house so my fabulous friend from NYC coming down this weekend will have a nice place to store his Helmut Lang "winter sky, bitch" windbreaker.)

The extra fabric at fault. It got what it deserved, I suppose.

Deadly outfit details: Pants -- Theory (bought at Potomac Mills Off 5th Saks Outlet); Blue tank -- H&M; Gray tank: Forever 21; Shoes -- NYLA (bought at Marshalls in Columbia Heights).

And super P.S. -- This is my 201st post...I missed the 200th-post narcissistic celebration yesterday. So, without further delay, congratulations, Marissa. Love, Marissa.

And freedom-loving P.P.S. -- Happy Fourth of July. I'll e-see you Monday! (By the way, anyone know where I can get a captain's hat? No reason...)


HomeImprovementNinja said...

if you need your bike fixed, a girl who works with my dog rescue group works at a bike shop. Shoot me an email and I'll put you in touch with her.

Stevious said...

Don't give up on the bike! The scars on your body and ego will heal.

Although you might end up walking around all day with trousers tucked into your socks without realising.

Freewheel said...

That was hilarious! Of course, I'm sorry for your suffering, but it was totally worth it for the story.

Marissa said...


I'll take a bike shop rec for sure. I no longer trust Baguette 100 percent.


Oh, I won't give up. I bike in again today with no problems. I did come across an angry pedestrian though, who told me as I swerved around him, "This is a crossWALK!" If I hadn't have smoked him so fast, I'd have taken the time to turn around and and inform him that he was a jackASS. I hate people sometimes.


Glad you enjoyed it. Looking back, it was kind of hilarious. I mean, rapist glasses are always funny...unless, you know they're on an actual rapist. OOO! Mid-afternoon rape joke! Homerun!

The Vinyl District said...

The real story here is 200 posts. Congrats!

And to think of the duchebaggery yet to be singled's to 400!

wotv said...

Wow. Baguette is a killer!

Tame her, Marissa

I-66 said...

No butt holding this time? I demand a recount.

Marissa said...


Ahh, 400...epic. (Thanks!)


Baguette is a beast, for sure. Once I remove the pie plate and the kick stand that keeps hitting my ankle, I'll whip that bitch into shape.


I don't always engage in butt-holding, contrary to popular belief. I don't even know what that means...

Righteous (re)Style said...

That has totally happened to me. Both incidents. Um, except without the rapist glasses!

Happy 4th!

Marissa said...


Seriously, I never knew I'd my sweet 4th-grade tight-roll skills would ever come in handy again, but I'll be damned if they didn't. I may have looked like an asshole, but it's better than death.

And the rapist glasses are making (or already have made) a comeback in the hipster circuit. I imagine this incident wouldn't have been as creepy if said glasses were worn ironically, but alas, they really, really weren't. This guy amazingly did know a lot about bikes though. He was dropping technical terms left and right. Bizarre.

N said...

See what happens when you try to wear loose pants? Chaos. But also comedy.

Marissa said...


I really am convinced it's the world telling me I've put things out of order. In a hilarious way, of course.

Callie said...

I think we live in the same apartment building. Just sayin' - that stylin carpet/tile combo looks awfully familiar.

Marissa said...


Really?! You'd be the first person I met in the building besides the management and the doormen/women. This is exciting!