If there is one thing that annoys me more than the humidity here in NYC, it’s the constant threat of loud bikers rolling through my neighborhood on the weekend. I’ve never understood what kind of death wish you need to have to ride a bike. I can see how the breeze flowing through your hair (or whatever is left of it…chances are if you ride a bike, the testosterone driving you to own one is probably choking off your hair follicles) could be exhilarating, but why do it on the streets of Manhattan? 4 days out of 7, most breezes in the summery city bring more unwelcome elements than not: urine, feces, and slowly rotting frappucinos in garbage cans come to mind.

So what’s my beef? Noise. Bikers, whether it be Harley going Easy Riders or Crotch Rocket sitting Biker Boyz all emit more noise than gunfire. I don’t go into their neighborhoods and cause a stir. I’m sure if I did, the Podunk County five-o would be handing out tickets like poo-dollars. I guess I shouldn’t get too upset. In theory, it should be a short lived phenomenon since most of them are probably going to get mauled by one of the many Escalades, Navigators or Humvees rolling down the street. Bon chance mes amis!