I crash into things when I'm walking on the sidewalk.
I've had enough bad hangovers to know that I don't like how getting hit by a bus feels.
My mom lives too far away to see me riding with no hands, should I choose to do so, because I totally can, no fooling.
I'm afraid that I won't be able to pull off bike shorts, or that I'll look so good in them that they'll become the only thing I want to wear.
If I see an acquaintance whom I don't want to say hello to, I can't pretend I'm sleeping, like I do on the subway and in line at Whole Foods.
Ringing a bell to alert people that they're in my way might make me have second thoughts about giving up on my music career, and I already sold my bongos.
I don't want to spend money on an expensive bike lock that will end up getting stolen along with the bike.
There's no license required to ride a bike, and I actually love going to the D.M.V. (I guess I'm just really unique!)
Lousy de Blasio has yet to come through on his promise to install sick half-pipes on city streets so that people on bikes can do tricks on them. Thanks for nothing, Bill!
You can't look out a window or listen to strangers dispute credit-card charges on their cell phones like you can on a bus.
There aren't any ladies selling churros in the bike lane like there are on subway platforms.
I don't want to spend money on a helmet that will make my hair look even worse than it already does.
With the ending of "E.T.," Hollywood gave me unrealistic expectations of riding a bike. I'll never look as cute as he did in that basket.
I wouldn't be able to use headphones on the go—not that someone with such incredible taste in music ever needs to use them.
I can't read a book while I'm riding a bike. I rarely do so when I'm not, but I appreciate having the option.
There aren't any songs about biking on sunshine.
I don't want to spend money on a seat cushion that I can't just flip over when I inevitably get tomato sauce on it.
I'm still mad at Lance Armstrong. Not mad enough to take off my Livestrong bracelet, but I've got to draw the line somewhere.
I'd miss Dr. Zizmor.
I already paid $116.50 for a monthly MetroCard, so I might as well get my money's worth.
