World's Wordiest Cyclist

I am a bike commuter. I like to think that I am a bike commuter by choice but I have a suspicion that it has more to do with the high cost of insuring a vehicle in the city (hey thanks all you crappy drivers out there who keep forcing the price up!) and the delusional and corrupt Translink that thinks making someone pay $2.50 to go 15 blocks (sure I'd love to hop on your stinky, lurchy bus where I get the pleasure of being pressed up against a belligerent wino on one side and a pervy businessman on the other) is somehow justifiable and sustainable. No matter the reasoning behind this fact, I am still a bike commuter. And most days I enjoy it immensely. I get to be out in the fresh air, working muscles that don't normally see action from steadfast blogging and hey, who doesn't love having the agility to outmaneuver cabbies and left-hand turners by darting up onto curbs and then recklessly back into traffic with the flick of a wrist? (this is inadvisable for those behind the wheel of a car - fire hydrants aren't nearly as easy to dodge when you're 5 feet wide.....which is exactly what the nice police officer told my elderly neighbor last week.)

Yes, most days I appreciate pedal power. Delight in it. Genuinely feel good to be alive and on my bike.

And then the first Fall shower arrives.

BAM! The repressed memories of previous winters' traumatic weather come screaming back to me the second the first drop of rain hits my horrified face.

Despite my seven winters in Vancouver as a cyclist I have yet to invest in any solid wet-weather gear. This is be because I am cheap fall into the "make-it-yourself-with-materials-you-can-find-in-your-kitchen" column. "No really! Duct tape and zip-lock bags are JUST as effective as your $300 Gore-Tex. Add in a few sheets of tinfoil and it's exactly the same thing that you're wearing at only a fraction of the cost. Hey can you hand me that spatula over there?..."

This low-budget, jury-rigged making-do never really bothered me before. I just embraced the fact that I was going to be very wet, very cold and probably very miserable. Which suited me fine. In fact, it served me pretty damn well. You see, I used to have this whole "life is pain" thing going on where I thought suffering was the bees knees. You know, that gritty middle-class Caucasian style of suffering whereby Roger's Video renting the last copy of The Notebook out from under your very nose sends you spiraling into the vortex of gloom and proves that a.) ALL the bad stuff happens to you b.) there is no God and c.) if there WERE a God, he certainly has your name on his "Humans to Torture" list. Some days I would forget to keep this ruse going and find myself seeing joy in a situation. A tingling would skitter down my spine and I'd feel my lips pull upwards (who knows, maybe it was just a neurological misfiring I was experiencing) but it didn't matter because soon enough that fleeting joy would be replaced with Vancouver's finest black clouds and it would begin to rain. I would get wet, cold and miserable and with complete predictability my inner CPU would be reset to its default of "pissed at the world." A commensalistic symbiotic relationship in action.

Here's the thing: I'm kinda over all that. No longer do the flamboyantly gay and lottery winners of the world corner the Happiness market. Maybe I'm finally ready to admit that we're all capable of being content with ourselves and our circumstances if we just drop the bullshit and stop acting like assholes (theory yet to be tested). Conundrum: winter is approaching. Which in Vancouver means "prepare thyself, the Biblical Floods are upon us." So if I want to keep this chipper persona alive for any length of time (don't worry, when I fall off my self-actualized high-horse we can go burn some Eckhart Tolle books and make fun of disfigured kittens), then I might need to upgrade from saran-wrap pants.

Proof of this point: I was riding to the West End from my house the other day (well across town) and found myself caught in the first spectacular downpour Vancouver has seen since the spring. We're talking 3 inches of standing water blanketing the roads and rain drops big enough to level Ant Metropolis. I wasn't anywhere near my destination so it was clear that I was going to be soaked (duct tape can only remain sticky for so long people!). Let's take a moment to imagine what being soaked looks like. Really let loose here. Think fishing boat in the Bering Sea meets Maid of the Mist at Niagara Falls. Got that picture in your head? Ok, now throw an additional 15 buckets of water into that scene and you have ME on Wednesday. Seriously, there couldn't have been more water rushing UP my legs from the spray of my tires if some dude was laying on the pavement spraying my crotch with a fire hose......oh wow. Wait. That did not come out right at all. Fine fine, take it. That's What She Said. But don't expect anymore freebies from me....

So yeah. Wet-weather gear, a priority. But you know what? As drenched as I was, it was still a lovely ride. Maybe it was the warmish temperature or the string of 5 green lights I managed to hit on Burrard Street, but all I know is that I, Sarah Jane Macnabb, stopped for a pedestrian. It doesn't matter that it was a stop sign to me and he was halfway into the intersection demonstrating his clear right-of-way (when has this ever stopped me in the past? My thoughts? If I'm on a bike and you're in a car/truck/van/bus, on foot/rollerblades or riding any sort of animal, get out of my way. That's just how it is. I don't write the rules¹). Yes, I must be a changed person because in addition to my following basic traffic laws benevolence I even smiled at him. True, I came really close to not stopping for him so in return his face was less "smile-like" and more "extreme terror-like" but we both had a good chuckle about it afterward. And by "we" I mean me. Although I'm sure once the adrenaline wore off later that night he was laughing too.

Hey and since I'm sharing, I just wanted to take this opportunity to give a shout out to the lady in the car I was biking behind. Yes, I'm aware that I cut you off. It was my intention to cut you off. And no I don't feel bad about it because quite frankly, when cyclists are passing you (keep in mind that you are in the giant motorized contraption capable of speeds 10 times that of a bike) it's because you're not keeping up with the flow of traffic. And by traffic I mean the gang of angry cyclists being held up by your negligent driving-while-cell-phoning shenanigans which forced them to dangerously weave out in front of your car before succumbing to the temptation of smashing in your tail lights with their kyrptonite bike locks. And yes I'm sure that the text message you were sending to Cheryl in regards to your dinner party was very important but 1.) if i could READ what you were texting, you were driving too slow and 2.) Cheryl is only saying that she can't come to your dinner party. I heard that she's actually planning to go see that new Meryl Streep movie with Debbie instead. Apparently your dinner parties suck. Pot roasts are so last year and plus at the last one you seated her next to Roy, that creepy accountant you work with, and all he did was stare at her left nipple the entire time. What's up with that?!

Wow. Do my posts ever have a point? I'd settle for a beginning, middle and end. Perhaps in the years to come that I maintain this website, I'll acquire such skills. Sink or swim. Although that's kinda of like saying "I'm sure I could land a plane if the need REALLY came up. I mean, I'm pretty confident I'd be able to dig deep and find that complex knowledge and experience somewhere inside of me...." We'll see. At least my blog won't be the cause any fiery deaths if I completely fail at it, so that's something. I think.

¹Except for when I do. Like this one. But don't think that just because you're my friend I'm going to to make exceptions for you. Rules are there for a reason people....