An Ode To My Bicycle

Danny Felts, contributor

You’ve opened my eyes to so many things. A tertiary excuse for fitness, the rolling barrage of passive aggression that is the NW driver. Why are you stopped at this 4-way intersection? It’s your turn. Just go. How hard is that? Go. Go. Please. Alright, I’ll go if you’re not going to — Okay, now you’re going to go. Cool.

You’ve given me the opportunity the wear clothing that looks like it was designed by aliens who know most, but not all, aspects of human anatomy. Pants that look like a Dickensian moppet designed them (see “joppers”). A rain jacket that, while effective, has what I can only describe as a “pull-down butt flap.”

And of course, there’s my colleagues. My brothers and sisters in arms. Who could forget the lovable antics of Ezra “Jeff Smith” Willow? A man who, beyond changing his name to make it more precious, also rides sans helmet with a set of Apple earbuds always effortlessly hanging from his neck. You go, Ezra/Jeff. Hope your DJ gig turns out okay. And then there’s Michael, the lycra-clad roadie whose rear derailleur could pay my rent for two months. You go, girl. If Saturday and Sunday decide to rebel and start a riot, I’ll make sure to turn to you when I’m looking for weekend warriors. #roasted

Shine on you crazy diamonds. Here’s to not dying in a horrible SUV accident.

Danny Felts is a comedian/editor/graphic designer/(insert liberal trope) based out of Portland, OR. For brevity, check him out @dannyfelts.  

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