I’ve been riding to work lately. I decided to take advantage of the fact that for the first time in ages I’m working within a practical biking distance from home. As I’m grossly unfit that translates as about two suburbs or a half hour ride. So I’ve been riding in when weather permits. By “weather permits” I mean I’m a wuss and if it’s raining or looks like raining or has recently been raining I won’t ride my bike. Work sucks enough without being cold and miserable when I get there.
I have a few reasons for biking it: health (hopefully gaining a little of), ecological benefits and the fact that although I only live 7km from work the fucked up public transport system means the trip takes at least 45 minutes most days. I think I will dedicate a whole blog post to how fucked up the public transport system is. So, I’m losing some weight, getting to work faster and feeling less stressed. When cars don’t try to kill me (another whole blog post).
Anyway, I’m still experimenting with some aspects of the ride. I take my work clothes in my backpack and there are shower facilities at work where I can get changed. I’ve mixed and matched various pieces of work apparel to discover which ones survive being rolled up in my backpack best. What I have learned is that I shouldn’t vary my behaviour too much because every fucking time I change something I forget something.
Today, I came up with a brilliant idea regarding my underwear. I know this is a little intimate but I feel my audience is ready for it. The decision was to not wear any while I was riding. I have to change my sweaty jocks along with my other clothes when I get to work and I thought “Why bother?” I don’t wear spandex when I ride so it isn’t as if I’d be putting the family jewels on show (the way people decide they have to start wearing fucking spandex as soon as they start riding a bike is worth another blog post as well.) So I thought just wear trakky daks and change into undies along with my work clothes.
It made sense but that one change in behaviour fucked me up! Because I wasn’t wearing underwear, I forgot to fucking packing any! So I get to work and I’m forced to face the whole day commando-style! And considering I’m wearing woollen suit pants, it’s an uncomfortable experience. Besides the chafing, I hate the swinging in the breeze feeling. So much so, I think I’m going out shopping for some underwear.
Man, I HATE freeballing.