non-fiction

Across the intersection I spotted ‘spandex man’. The light was red and I had stopped. Bright colours, wild patterns, tight fabric, all in a quick glance. We were the only two in sight.

Bike + Spandex + Pavement have always intrigued me. I learned to ride in fields, on gravel and, wearing my purple corduroy overalls. Bike riding has become one of the icons for a friendly environment. To me, the mere presence of pavement implies a lack of environmental concern.

He was turning left, I was going right. We were headed towards the same two lane road. He would have his lane, I mine. The advance arrow turned green and spandex man began to turn. I slowly crept forward to make my legal right hand turn on a red light. Looking up I saw dramatic, purposeful hand gestures being made to me. I tried to figure them out: not a left turn signal, right turn signal, stop or, middle finger. I had no idea what his signals meant. On ‘serious bike signal school’ day I must have been out riding by the creek stopping to pick crocuses.

As I turned, I assumed that the tight spandex must’ve cut off circulation to his brain.

If you want to communicate with me you must learn my language. And for the record, internal combustion engine beats spandex every time.