Literally, my car has the barest minimum amount of fuel in it. This is not because I like to live dangerously, a la the great literary hero Austin Powers, but because gas is more expensive than ever. I have nowhere to be today, so I’m allowing my car to sit idle, empty and alone, lest my bank account disappear into the Phantom Zone of negative balance.
If things get sticky, I can take public transit or, God forbid, ride a bike. Except I can’t ride a bike, thanks to my parents, who were too busy doing more important tasks than teaching me, like arguing or falling asleep. But for many Americans, riding a bike is a perfectly normal thing to do.
Am I humiliated that one of the many basic skills for life that I don’t know is considered so simple that it became a common idiom for something that’s easy? I don’t live dangerously, I live humiliatingly. Humiliation is my middle name.
Dave Humiliation Schilling. Go on, point and laugh at the photo of me in this article. Get it out of your system so we can move along.
As I was saying, many people can ride a bike if they can’t drive a car for whatever reason, and they’ll be perfectly happy doing it. They smile broadly as the wind whips through the holes in their helmet and gently touches the exposed hairs on their head. They pedal like their lives depend on it (they do), dodging deadly automobiles operated by inattentive drivers.
In some cities, there are dedicated lanes for these brave bikers, theoretically inoculating them from the dangers of cars pancaking them. The United States has 4,400 directional miles of bike lanes, offering safety for anyone serious enough to risk it. The push for bike lanes began in the 1960s and grew in the ensuing decades.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
