I’m not a hipster. I ride in khakis, and I could never decide on a tattoo. I’m not a yuppie. I don’t own a single article of Spandex clothing. My bike costs less than the tires on your car. I’m not a pro. My legs are extremely hairy. And I’m still five pounds overweight. This I hope to change, but not by shaving my legs. I’m not a gearhead. I barely know how to adjust my brakes and I still can’t fix a flat. This, too, I hope to change. But I’m still not interested in hearing about your helium-fiber Bianchi. I’m not a liberal. I don’t want the government running my life. I’m not a conservative. I don’t want preachers running my life. I’m not a libertarian. I don’t want the market running my life. I’m not an anarchist. My wife won’t let be be an anarchist. I’m not hardcore. I don’t mind if you pass me. But I’m not a newbie. I’ve been riding in this town for years, and I’ve taken my lumps.
I’m just a guy on a bike. Please stop trying to kill me.