People don't like me. I'm not sure why this is, but I know it's true. I can see it in their eyes. Take this very morning, for instance. I was riding through downtown Manhattan, on a relatively quiet street, in a relatively empty bike lane, and to the best of my knowledge I was in compliance with every single local traffic law. (As far as I know there's no law against cycling in stockings and heels, even in December.) As I rode, I noticed that there was a pedestrian walking towards me carrying a bag full of take-out, right in the middle of the bike lane.
Sometimes in New York City, when the sidewalks are choked with humanity, a few errant souls will stray into the bike lane. It's almost unavoidable. In this case though there was plenty of room on the sidewalk--in fact it could just as easily have been a sidewalk on Main Street in Anytown, USA. (The sidewalks on Main Street in Anytown, USA are pretty empty now because of the economy.) Finally, he looked up at me, and I shrugged and pointed to the sidewalk.
"Shut up," he said to me disgustedly.
Frankly, I was shocked, and I don't shock easily. (Except when I drag my high heels along my shag carpet and then touch the doornob.) Firstly, I hadn't uttered a word, so I don't know why the "shut up" was even warranted. Secondly, try as I might, I could think of no good reason for why he would choose to walk in the street instead of on the sidewalk (which as I said was free from crowds) where his chances of being run down by a cyclist or motorist were significantly less.
It just so happens that this was one of those bright green bike lanes, so I thought that perhaps he just has a compulsion to walk on green surfaces. Maybe he's got a house full of green carpeting, and this makes him feel at home. Or maybe he pines for Anytown, USA and mistook the bike lane for grass. Eventually, though, I ruled these out, and decided it was because he, like everybody else, simply hates me on sight.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "You couldn't possibly be that objectionable. He just didn't like you because you were on a bike." Well, I don't buy that. Plenty of other people who ride bikes are popular. Moreover, people on bikes don't like me either. A reader recently confirmed this to me when he forwarded me a link to the "Cyclist Project," which is the work of a photographer called Marisabaz, and which you can peruse on her Flickr page. Here are some examples from it:
Wow, I'd been wondering why fixed-gear riders have so many tattoos! Now I know. I can relate, because I was once doored by the owner of a bagel shop. I didn't get any money out of the deal, but he did promise to keep me in day-old bialys for the rest of my life. Sure, I may never be regular again, but at least I'll never go hungry.

Yes, the guy with the scary eyes totally wasn't wearing contacts at all, was he? That's because he was a drug addict, and he was selling you a stolen bike in order to purchase more drugs. That would explain the scary eyes and $20 price tag. Welcome to New York City! I'm guessing you haven't been here long, because if you had: a) you would have realized that; and b) you would have held fast at $5. In a way though, it's sort of charming that one person's drug-addicted thief is another's Bike Fairy flitting about Williamsburg and selling cheap bikes. Did he look like the dad from "Alf?" I heard he's been having hard times, and it's entirely possible he's moved into freelance bike retail. (By the way, don't blame "Alf" dad for the "curse." There's no such thing as a curse, but there is such a thing as a crappy bike.)
Naivetee notwithstanding, I like the "Cycling Project." In fact, I like it so much I went ahead and made my own entry based on this not-safe-for-work link, forwarded to me by a reader:

Good for you, Sophie! No matter what you're straddling, keep the rubber side down.
So if you're wondering how the big bike love-in that is the "Cycling Project" managed to remind me that people don't like me, here's your answer:

I mention this not to goad the owner, but only because I'm dismayed he's still angry and I want to assure him and the rest of cycledom that I have no designs on taking away anyone's "real bike joy." And perhaps worst of all, the anger he still feels towards me has contaminated what is otherwise a lovely project, so hopefully by reiterating my lack of malicious intent I can help air out any residual bitterness that still lays hidden in the folds of time. (As well as avoid any more clumsy metaphors.)
Of course, I shouldn't be surprised that he's still angry, since I did commit the unforgivable sin of Consumerist Political Incorrectness. In our culture, few acts are more sacred than that of the purchase. When you buy something, you're not just exchanging money for an item. You're actually performing a holy communion in which you become one with your possession and subsequently identify yourself with it, and as such your purchase speaks more loudly about you than your surname or your religion. It's no wonder then that people become upset when someone else implies they might not like or be impressed by something they've bought. When you're emotionally invested in your possessions an affront to them is also an affront to you. Thou shalt not disapprove of your neighbor's purchases.
For this reason, I endeavored to explore the Cult of BMC to learn what makes them special. To that end, I watched this video on their website. I must confess, I didn't learn much. The narrator just kept reminding me over and over again that the company is Swiss, which naturally means their bikes are built with precision. I'm not sure how much that means in 2008, since most of these bikes are now made in Taiwan anyway, and the only real difference between "Swiss precision" and "Italian soul" these days is that the guy who boxes up your bike in Switzerland shows up to work at 9:00, whereas the Italian guy shows up at 9:20-ish. Also, BMC design their bikes on computers (remember, precision), and they also command you to be unique:

But even though I don't particularly care for BMC's bikes, the owner of the one above shouldn't really care. First of all, he's got a track frame, not a 'cross frame. Secondly, anybody can buy a bike, but not everybody can own a bike. And when you own your bike, you really don't care what anybody thinks of it. So own that BMC, and I hope you rock and/or run it for years to come. (I think you "rock" a track bike when it's got risers, but you "run" it when it's got drops.)
Moving on, the proprietor of Zlogblog has sent me the following photos, in which the heretofore mutually-exclusive worlds of unorthodox handlebars and u-locks have collided with enough force to forever change the landscape of fixed-gear cycling as we know it:


Then again, everybody knows that cutting-edge urban cyclists are now ditching locks altogether. Great Commuter Race champion Jamie Favaro has forwarded me the following photo, which proves that disease is the new theft-deterrent:

So if some guy with scary eyes who looks like the dad from "Alf" tries to sell you a bike covered in mayonnaise for $20, you can safely assume it's mine. Even though he's taken it from me, I still own it.