When the weather heats up, there’s nothing a gentleman prefers more than shedding his top coat, donning his Bermuda shorts and saddling up at an outdoor bar to drink copiously alfresco. Knowing, however, that he must first earn his thirst before doing any whistle-wetting (and being fully aware that his license is still suspended), a gentleman will embark on a most vigorous, calorie-burning bike tour whose finish line is the wrought iron gates of his favorite beer garden. Coasting into the establishment and dismounting his two-wheeled steed, the gentleman is greeted by the cheers of fervent fans, who hand him a constant stream of lovely lagers and gratis greyhounds. Sinking beverage after beverage into his amply belly, the gentleman begins presiding over the afternoon like a professional athlete conducting a drunken press coverage. But no matter how awe-inspiring his antics become or how much his drinking companions protest, the gentleman always makes sure to cut himself off before the sun has set so that he may complete a final victory lap home on his 10-speed racing machine.
BiffBeerStrong: jesus what happened last night?
DrunkDomestique: you don’t remember?
BiffBeerStrong: woke up in my clothes, late for work, with bicycle grease stains all over my pants
BiffBeerStrong: the last thing i remember from yesterday was drinking outside in park slope
BiffBeerStrong: when it was still LIGHT OUT
DrunkDomestique: we rode our bikes back to carrol gardens
BiffBeerStrong: WHAT?! we did?
DrunkDomestique: yeah, i realized after we got home that you’d been blacked out
BiffBeerStrong: must have been. no recollection of any biking
DrunkDomestique: yeah, totally dangerous
DrunkDomestique: anyway, you were bombing on that single speed racing bike
DrunkDomestique: slaloming down the hill between 5th and 4th ave
DrunkDomestique: then you kept riding no handed and raising your arms in a victory salute like you were in the fucking tour de france
DrunkDomestique: you kept screaming that you were lance armstrong and quoting LL Cool J by saying “don’t call it a comeback”
BiffBeerStrong: omg, i should have really been aborted
DrunkDomestique: you also kept flashing your index finger at people we passed and screaming “number 1!”
DrunkDomestique: so we get home and walk in the door
DrunkDomestique: i put the bikes away and you grab a beer from the fridge
BiffBeerStrong: how selfless of me
DrunkDomestique: you crack it open, sit down on the couch, cross your legs, look at me and very casually say
DrunkDomestique: “how’d we get home?”
For more gentlemanly biking please do click here.