Shit fixie skidders say...

You’re cycling back to the lockup where you keep your bike, a sleek, clean-lined fixie, lime green and gorgeous. You’re feeling good — you have a new card in your spokes and a new $100 hub in your belt-pack — and you’re looking forward to an afternoon sipping Colt 45 and building a new deep-V wheel.

You’re just about to stop by the lockup door and pull out your decidedly non-ironic keychain, a big plushy Tigger fob hanging from the end, borrowed from your mother after you lost your keys at last week’s drunken game of bike polo, when a hottie appears from nowhere, cruising her sky-blue custom fixed and grinding on her Brooks saddle. You just can’t let her see those keys.

9yrs ago