Of Hemorrhoids and Helmets

How the H-E-L-L do I follow the Cyclosaur's bloody sphincter?

Fuck it. I don't know. Just gotta get back in the locker room, push some weights, work hard and leave it all out here on the field.

Wear a helmet. Stop not wearing a helmet. As cavalier as I was about obeying traffic signals in my last post, I really think you ought to wear a helmet.

And by all means, cut it with the headphones. If you can't hear me giving you the "ON YOUR LEFT!" then there's a good chance you're going to swerve over and kill me. Forget about the cabs that want us both dead. Now you're dangerous TO ME!

And CHRIST! If you refuse to wear a helmet AND wear headphones while you ride, you're practically begging Charles Darwin to pluck you from the gene pool. You want to die. Do me a favor and don't die in the bike lane. Where will all the cabs park?

To be clear, I don't like wearing a helmet either. When I ride bike paths or other no-traffic routes, I will, occasionally go helmetless. This is, I think, a calculated risk, a low one.

But not wearing a helmet while riding in city traffic is begging for a shattered melon, a permanent speech impediment, a gimpy walk. I like your cycling hat. It's a cool hat. You look hip. Now put on a fucking helmet.

Seriously.