I am on board, in principle at least, with the green movement, but something about it really lends itself to people taking the concept and themselves far too seriously. While I ride my bike for a significant portion of my trips away from my home, it has more to do with enjoying riding than ecological responsibility. After all, I am a selfish person. Much as I want to do my part in all areas of life, I am open to negotiation on how much output “my part” would actually entail.
For instance, I agreed to meet some fellow concerned cycling persons on Sunday to engage in a bit of bike activism for the good of the community at 10:30 AM. This was in direct conflict, however, with my activities at around 1:30 AM the previous morning, which included head banging, some dancing to Michael Jackson which probably resembled a grand mal seizure, and a take-all-comers policy as regards liquid refreshment.
These activities conspired to find me, later in the morning, pitting my sense of community cyclist pride against my sense of staying in bed until my head stopped feeling like it was full of hot sand and irritable snakes. Ultimately this battle raged a bit too long, which necessitated some apologetic emails and some scheduling gymnastics for the rest of the day.
Thankfully, it all worked out. I’m not all that sorry as I did have a hell of a good time, but there we are. Mind you, I realize that my dirty laundry and cycling have no place together, but at least I’m not the first person to attempt to combine them.
Enter the Cyclean, the world’s first pedal-powered washing machine. Actually it may technically be the world’s only perpetual washing machine, as running the thing by human power must certainly work up a sweat, thus creating more dirty clothes to launder.
And speaking of clothes, I’d like to quickly commend The Onion on a joke about self-conscious equipment-purchasing cyclists with their article entitled “Cyclist Friend Explains Necessity of $35 Socks“, but condemn their use of a photograph showing a schlub in a tee shirt and a department store helmet. Anyone buying high performance socks would surely be a roadie in a full kit or a triathlete in a sleeveless racing onesie.
These sorts of details often escape non cyclists, but they annoy me, probably because I have too much time to think about them while lying in bed and wishing I’d not consumed so many beverages with offensive names the evening previous. Ah well, such is life, I guess. Onward!