I went on my daily bike ride this morning since it was a beautiful, still, perfect sort of morning, and it seems like a lot of other people had the same idea, since I passed lots of bicycles and people and dogs playing in yards. I got a good groove going as I hit the Pudding Creek Trestle, and I wasn’t even deterred by the people who refuse to yield to a bicycle, standing stupidly in the middle of the bridge until I ring my bell arrogantly. It takes a certain kind of person to ring a bicycle bell, I think, and I’m not sure I’m that kind of person yet.
I cruised a little way up the haul road, basking in the sunshine and moseying along at a pleasant pace before deciding that I had gone far enough and turning around. As I approached the trestle from the North, a bunch of fleshy, meaty, heavy sort of men were standing in the path.
“Look at that fat bitch on the bicycle,” one of them said, his face contorting in an ugly way which I’ll kindly put down to the heat, rather than years of being a complete dick.
What an astute observer, I thought, sliding gracefully to a stop so that I could take some photographs and nodding at another bicyclist who was leaning up against the rail enjoying the view. It was hard to frame shots without people in them, since the beach was so busy, so I finally gave up and went for minimal people, rather than no people. It’s days like this that remind me I’m happy to live here, happy to be a fat bitch on a bicycle, happy to know that I’ll be sitting in the coffeehouse later with friends, nursing a hot chocolate and arguing about politics.
(If you’re reading this via RSS feed, you’ll need to click through for the photo slideshow below; sorry!)