I finished off my career as a bike messenger, fittingly enough, with the Halloween Alleycat, in which I placed second to last, but that’s one place better than last.
I didn’t get any decent pictures, and the event itself was pretty unremarkable (Kendall won, of course, starting off by getting from Downtown to Waikiki and back in 15 minutes; the guy’s an animal, a wolverine or something) but I had a good time and got another spoke card, which is really all I was in it for to begin with1.
My newsie costume was a hit, and I’m still vaguely irritated that I didn’t get extra points for coming in a costume. Next alleycat (in December, apparently), I’m going to shoot for finishing mid-pack. That’d be pretty sweet.
Finally, I have a couple more observations about messenger work.
- I don’t like security guards. They exist essentially to enforce extra rules and policies beyond the law, which is apparently not good enough for people. The whole of a messenger’s advantage (over other delivery methods) relies on the mostly unspoken but understood fact that we can bend the rules—chiefly the rules of traffic, the rules of what constitutes a legitimate cycling area, and the rules of where one can reasonable lock a bike. This places security guards and bike messengers and odds with each other, and just as I’m sure they wonder why I don’t just follow the rules, I wonder why they don’t understand that my very job is predicated on not following the rules.
- My urban riding habits have been totally ruined by messenger work. I split lanes, run red lights, pop curbs (both up and down), and generally ride like a goddamn maniac, and I don’t even mean to. I used to be such a polite rider and now I simply can’t be bothered. I know it’s a bad habit; it reflects poorly on cyclists in general (because, of course, to a motorist, I’m not just one rider, but all riders) and yet I can’t seem to go back.
- Although it seemed to annoy the other riders no end, I never tired of being asked of I was a bike messenger. When the answer was “yes,” their inevitable impressed response was always fun. And if they went to so far as to ascertain that I just worked downtown, their shock at the revelation that our range is anywhere between Kahala and the airport (essentially the whole of Honolulu proper) was doubly pleasing. I’ve never had people be flat-out impressed with what I do at any other job, and it was a singular pleasure.
I will need to figure out a regular riding schedule now, so as not to squander what meager level of fitness I’ve acquired. I recently rode up Tantalus, so I’m considering doing it two or three times a week, maybe even doing a couple of laps if I’m feeling, y’know, saucy.
1 Spoke cards are visible markers of indie bike cred, plus this one has a totally wicked demon with a messenger bag riding a single-speed—I think it’s safe to say that that crosses over from “radical” territory into “badical.”