Someone in the coffee shop tipped the owner off that someone was checking out his ride and he emerged offering to take my picture by it, in it, whatever I wanted. He all but offered to let me take it for a spin.
"What is it?" I asked.
"What are you?" he asked. "I see you come by here every morning and I wonder what is up with that helmet and all these lights and whatnot."
The car was a Morris Minor, a '63, so I guess part of the British Invasion in a way.
He asked me how far I ride. Really, he asked all the usual questions, and I gave the usual answers.
As in:
Q:Why the mohawk?
A:It doesn't matter if drivers are happy to see me, so long as they do see me.
He also observed that it was dangerous, riding a bike to work. And I said, as usual, that sitting around waiting to have a heart attack is risky too.
Then he said, "You are normal!"
This was delivered as if he were the arbiter of this designation. I was afraid I was a freak, but some dude tooling around in a '63 British economy car says I fit right in... I'm pretty sure he meant it as a compliment, but I think it's the first time I've been accused of this. Ever.
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