Ring My Bell

So I told my brother Tiffany and I were going on a bike ride last weekend, and he asked if it was a work-out ride or a leisurely ride.

I hesitated.

"Leisurely," I lied.

It wasn't a work-out ride. In fact, I didn't even clip in (and, no, not just because I sometimes fall off when I clip in). But the ride did take us over the Golden Gate Bridge, and, as anyone who has ever ridden over the Golden Gate Bridge knows, there's no way to do that leisurely.

There are only two types of people on the Golden Gate Bridge: angry people and oblivious people.

That's because, unless you're oblivious, you can't help but be angry at the swarm of pedestrian tourists who refuse to walk in single file and have the audacity to try to take "scenic" pictures on a national landmark. Or at the professional bikers intent on maintaining their highway speeds on a path four feet across and hundreds of feet in the air.

Tiffany and I are not oblivious. Our only hope is to get across the bridge before we become angry.

Our strategy is that the front-rider rings her bell like crazy (yes, our bikes have bells). And I mean like crazy. Tiffany took the lead this time, and I stayed as close behind her as I could. We sounded like an old-timey cash register gone haywire as we careened down the path.

"Your bell's starting to sound angry," I yelled at her as we bore down on a pair of lovers smooching in front of their camera.

"Really?? I'm trying to ring it nicely!" she called over her shoulder.

We made it across with our tempers in check. As for the people we dinged along the way... well, it's every man for himself on the bridge.