fucking fancy-pants bastards

tonight i was riding home at 2am in an unforeseen rain storm, wearing nothing but shirt sleeves and rolled pants. going through an intersection [on the red, past traffic] i see a gaggle of 'bike punk' looking kids. fixed gear, funny pants, you get the picture. so, naturally i smile- yay, fellow bikers out for the early morning run in the rain. in response i receive scowls and sneers. WTF?? so what if i have a light on my bike, who gives a flying fuck if i have a derailer and a helmet. i'm out there in it; not driving, not supporting shitty companies, or what ever they're pissed off about. yeah, i'm wearing gap panties and i ate some cow meat for dinner, but they don't know that from passing me at an intersection. for all they know- i'm the most kick-ass messenger in all of baltimore and they're blowing me off 'cause i don't have the right biker chic. well, fuck them and their cute little pants. i'm not a messenger, not pretending to be. i'm a cook and a sailor [and a damn good one at that]. i ride because i love it and i don't need their acceptance into the 'fashion biker of the year club' to justify the joy that darting through the city on my two wheels gives me every time i set my sweet ass on the saddle.