Fizz's birthday, an underwear dilemma and the illegitimate bike messenger

Last week was Fizz's first birthday, we celebrated with a ride back and forth to work.

More things that I'm learning as a bike commuter:

Try a different way!
the route back home in the evening is gridlocked with cars and SUVs, the morning commute is a breeze in comparison! I needed to test another route. I've found that if I stuck to the trails and then hopped on Smallman, I had much better success. When the Strip trail opens back up (if EVER!) I'll be very happy to avoid all the stops signs on Smallman. I'm missing out on hitting the bike counters in the Penn Ave cycletrack, but I can't be bothered with the inconvenience.

Underwear and where to stash it.
Getting changed at work from bike shorts into normal skivvies and vice/versa has presented me with issues: I'm finding underwear.... days later... crammed into pockets of all of my panniers and bags. Ew.
I've now got a special 'knickers bag' that I've promised myself to use for this purpose. The cashier at the grocery store doesn't need to see me pull my wallet out of my pannier and with it, a pair of used drawers. Ain't nobody got time for that.
Also, in the interest of using as many different words for underwear as I can in this post: panties! bum floss! grundies! fanny firewalls!


Red, the Bike Messenger! ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED!
Earlier this month, (when a co-worker who normally has this task was on vacation) I was asked by my employer to get our checks signed by a board member who works downtown. "Could you run over to his office on the bike?" they asked!
YES!
They asked again this morning. I think I might be the semi-regular bike messenger for the office. Sweet.

I was also mistaken for a legitimate messenger by a man in the elevator ride up to my destination. The female bike messenger (let alone one in her 40's!) is a rare creature in Pittsburgh, so to be mistaken for an actual, professional messenger delights me to no end.

Elevator conversation: 
"Did you ride here to work or....."
No, just making a delivery.
"Ah, I remember the old Triangle messengers, those guys were nuts!"
Yeah, they're my age by now and pretty beat up: broken bones, missing teeth... I'd like to keep my teeth, thanks.

(in looking online for Triangle Bike Messenger images, I discovered that a friend's spouse was a TBM back in the day! Here he is before his bearded and tattooed days.)
http://old.post-gazette.com/regionstate/19990908messenger1.asp

The receptionist at his office has asked me both times if she needed to sign for a delivery. Ha! "No, I have an appointment with Sam."