I hang my sweaty riding gear to dry in my office and when the workday is done, I reverse the process ... sneak to the bathroom, put on my now-dry-but-sort-of-stinky ensemble, wad up my work clothes and tuck them into my backpack and head for the bike rack.
Which means I have to stride through the building in my bike stuff.
Looking like a royal dork.
But Monday, I had company.
There's a guy who works in Tech who rides his own bike to work. We hit the elevator at the same time and I had to laugh.
His bike is heavier and louder than mine. And it has a motor. Or I suspect it does ... I didn't actually see it, because we headed for separate doors once we landed on the first floor.
But picture me in padded shorts, a neon yellow long sleeve shirt, white helmet and half-finger gloves. Thinking I'm sort of tough.
Then imagine him in full leathers ... pants and jacket ... carrying a serious helmet like this:
And he, of course, knows I'm not remotely tough by comparison.
I bet his ride home was a whole bunch faster than mine.
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