commuting next to “the Dude”

Yesterday I was riding down the length of lake street. (Actually, it’s Lake Ave, but everyone in my world has always called it lake street -it has a better ring to it – like Sesame Street. Lake street is a long straight road that runs for about 4 miles up to the foot of the mountains.) As is often the case on a Friday afternoon, I had a shovel strapped to the right side of my bike – in line with the bike, outside my right pedaling circle like a sidecar/lance (You know the saying, “If you have to ask…”). So, because of the shovel I needed to ride a little more into the lane than I normally would. Miraculously, and oddly, there are Sharrows on Lake Street. I was still well to the right of these, however – I tend to skirt the doors too much, but whatever, it works for me, knock, knock, knock. So there I am cruising along down the hill on a Friday afternoon with my side-shovel and my big straw hat flapping on its neck-string, pegged-up jeans, white California Poppy t-shirt, moustache... you know the look. I’m pedaling along keeping up with traffic (downhill) and a car pulls up alongside me at around 15 or 20 and he’s edging me out a little further into the door zone (don’t get your hopes up this ends safely and happily) but nothing imminent, or threatening – just a little tight, you know. So, I ding my bell a little just to say hi, and don’t get any response. At the next light, I pull up alongside of him and catch a glance through his passenger side window. He’s got an open can of Coors Original in his cup holder. Classic. Who can complain about that… just easin’ ‘er on into that there weekend…