First off, can we all please agree that people who ride bicycles with toe clips and bike shoes and bike gloves and spandex are by far the biggest weirdos on the planet? It’s like, dude, you’re riding up Spruce Street, not the Pyrenees. My six-year-old cousin Wesley rides his bike while eating meatballs. You don’t need special socks.
Regardless, riding a bike is still cool. Or at least, hipsters think it’s cool. I guess it’s cool. I don’t know. I mean, it’s a friggin’ bike. But now that more and more people wanna ride bikes, the city has actually introduced a brand-new bike-sharing bike-share thingie that lets more people ride bikes.
You’ve seen the Indego bike-share thingie. You’ve seen the bikes. They’re all over. They’re blue. They’re dorky. They have little front baskets and cute adverse pouches and KICKSTANDS, awesome kickstands. And they get you from point A to point Z, which is sort of the point of a bike, provided a car doesn’t mow you down in the process and murder you.
Unfortunately, a lot of people are hesitant to ride Indego bikes—partially because they’re scared of dying, but mostly because they don’t know how it works.
So how does it work?
Pretty simple, really. Basically you just go to a place, swipe your bank credit card and ride a bike. But if you want to get TECHNICAL about it, and really dive deep into bike-sharing details, grab a snorkel and let’s go!
STEP 1: GO TO A DUMB WEBSITE
I know, there’s nothing more annoying than having to go to a website (and technically you don’t have to go to a website, but it kinda helps). At rideindego.com, you’ll find a map that shows alllllllll of the Indego bike stations in the city—as well as how several bikes are available to ride, and return, at each location. You can also get the handy Indego app (which I imagine does the same thing, but I couldn’t download it because I have no more storage left on my phone thanks to a bunch of ADORABLE videos of my cats like this one).
On the website (and app?), you can buy an unlimited amount of rides for $15 a month, or purchase a single ride at $4 for a half an hour. Or you can just roll up to an Indego kiosk and buy a single ride as you go. It’s up to you, I don’t care. I honestly don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Donald Trump is going to be our next president. I’m moving to France.
STEP 2: GET A BIKE
Once you find an Indego station (I have no idea if they’re actually called “stations”), don’t just roll up to the kiosk and swipe your damn credit card. Calm down for once in your life. Instead, take a quick walk around the bikes. Check ‘em out. Touch their wheels. Kick ‘em. I dunno. Make sure the bike you want doesn’t suck. As far as I can tell, none of the bikes suck, but it’s still worth checking anyway.
Once you find a bike that doesn’t suck, swipe your card at the kiosk, follow the stupid instructions to select that bike, and then bing bang boom you’ll be riding a dumb-looking blue bike in no time.
IMPORTANT: After you remove your bike from its little portal thingie (not what it’s called), take a deep breath, set down your kickstand, and do all your little doo-dahs before you start riding. You know, like tucking your pant legs into your socks, zipping your phone up in your bag, or jamming a fresh French baguette deep inside your own [EDITOR’S NOTE: CENSORED].
Then, get on your stupid bike and go somewhere.
STEP 3: RIDE A STUPID BIKE
I gotta tell you, riding a bike? It’s like riding a bike. Easy. Freeing. Zippity goddamn doo dah. Instantly, you’ll find yourself pedaling around town like Mary friggin’ Popps, your hair blowing in the breeze, feeling alive for the first time in decades.
Indego bikes only have three speeds, which is kinda lame, but also sort of nice because you can never go too fast and get too outta control. Before you know it, you’ll feel like a seasoned dirty bike messenger as you blow through stop signs and swerve around cars at red lights (I know, it’s annoying when you’re driving, but on a bike it’s EXHILARATING). It’s like you’re 14 all over again, gliding around town willy-nilly, on your way to Suzy Eisenberg’s house for a good ole over-the-blanket [EDITOR’S NOTE: NOPE, CAN’T SAY THAT].
After around four wonderful blocks, a burning sensation will light up your quads. Like, really burny. You’ll want to die, and drive into a ditch, but just bare down and keep pedaling. That pain will go away in six to eight weeks. Also, if you grip up your left handlebar a littttttttle too tightly, you might accidentally ring the bell, which is very startling and VERY embarrassing. Some pedestrians might look your way as you ring-a-ding-ding, but just keep on pedaling. Don’t EVER stop pedaling.
Of course, you’ll have to watch out for the hundreds of motorists (and pedestrians) who can end your life at any moment. Most of them will show up in bike lanes (which should really be renamed UPS lanes), where massive trucks stop to deliver [EDITOR’S NOTE: C’MON, EV] to lonely women on every other block. I’m telling you, I rode from 5th and Walns to 18th and Wash and must have come across at least seven trucks double parked. However, I also passed by around 300 beautiful women—including two pregnant ladies wearing very tight maxi dresses—and nearly wrapped my bike around four different telephone poles.
But eventually, I made it to my destination. Safe and sound. In one piece. Where I got on with my miserable life.
All in all, it was a fantastic experience. I love Indego bikes. I love bikes. I love Bjork. And I love that this city is making a concerted effort to be more bike friendly.
So go out there and ride, idiots. Ride like the wind. Drivers, pay attention and don’t run people over. Bikers, don’t ride like D-wads. Enjoy your summers. Enjoy your bikes. Eat baguettes. Wear sunscreen. Buy Ben Simmons jerseys. Be nice to each other. And if this orange-faced buffoon really wins the presidential election, let’s all MOVE … TO … FRANCE.
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