Thursday Brain Farts

I've written and deleted the opener to this post 3 or 4 times now. I'm feeling uncreative and boring this morning. Should I write about seeing Fiddler on the Roof? How about my progress on my DC Bucket List? Or maybe that yesterday I finally booked my moving company (big committing step for me). But none of these things are interesting me this morning. This blog is turning out to be a lot of pressure!

How about an anecdote about middle aged men who bike to work and don't like being passed by me on the bike trails in the morning. In lifeguarding class, we learned that the hardest age group to control are middle aged men. I fully believe this fact. This morning on my commute to work, I passed by quite a few other bikers (which is always pretty exciting for me. Last year I actually got passed on a hill by someone that I was sure was already collecting social security checks - so for me to pass anyone is always a big feat).

There is a certain etiquette with bike commuters in DC. The bike path I take is fairly uncrowded until you get into the Rosslyn section of Arlington. By then, there are a slew of pedestrians and stoplights start to factor in. At the first stop light, there was a solid queue of bikers (we all go in a line, much like make way for ducklings - especially at the second light, where we are effectively preventing cars from making a righthand turn to cross over the key bridge. Always a bit dicey, I like the strength in numbers). But middle aged man # 1 comes scooting along past the line (um, esscuze me, are you too good for the line?) and cuts all other bikers off. Fine, no worries, he heads on down the Mt Vernon trail and out of my life. Then comes middle aged man #2. As those of us heading towards the Key Bridge make our way across various lanes of traffic, he comes flying along, zipping through pedestrians, and cutting me off (insert expletives here). I followed him until he screwed up his gears on the bridge (tee hee, I enjoyed this) and promptly slows the entire line behind him, braking/breaking in the dead middle of the path. Faux Pas part deux.

The point of the entire tirade (as I passed by him a second time, disgruntled and without having yet had coffee) is this: middle aged men, get over yourself.

That anecdote seemed more interesting before I started. Even I am bored by this blog post, but have nothing less boring to write about. My apologies, blog readers (both of you), tomorrow I'll come up with something better.