Like many of you, I can do some embarrassing stuff in the privacy of my car. Singing, talking to myself, air drumming, you name it. Unlike the majority of you, however, I have fancy tinted windows, so you can not see what I'm doing.
I packed up the bike on New Year's to go to the Baldwin Trail. I usually ride the bike down there since it's an easy way to add another 12 miles to my ride, but my tires are worn down pretty smooth and I didn't feel like getting a flat on the way there in the crappy industrial part of town.
I usually go in the early morning but I screwed around until late afternoon, and was lazily packing the car with all the stuff I'd need. I'd leave the trunk open and go find my water bottles, leave a back door open while hunting down something else, just a lazy, footdragging load in.
I finally started driving. I kept hearing a noise in the back, but figured it was just the bike shifting. It did sound a little more organic than that, but it was probably just some crap I left in the floorboard shifting or something.
I couldn't really be bothered with backseat noise, because I was playing a live Thin Lizzy album really loud, and if Homer Simpson has taught us anything,it's that rock music achieved perfection in 1974.
Now, If I'm alone, I'm not going to just wussily hum or nod my head, I'm gonna sing the crap out of some stuff. I'll pull out the guitar face, the pelvic thrust, the pointed finger coming off the guitar riff, anything to give my imaginary audience a thrill. And the audience was loving it. I mean, it was "Cowboy Song,", a song scientifically determined to increase rocking by 75%.
I stopped at a light, and continued to give my imaginary audience 110 percent. Right before the light turned green, as I caught the eye of a particularly fetching audience member in the front row, I felt something heavy and needle-y fall into my lap. The concert was over. I jumped out of my seat, somehow keeping my foot on the brake.
When I had the doors open, my ancient cat had climbed in and fallen asleep in the backseat. He had managed to sleep through quite a bit of noise, but eventually my rocking had caused him to jump up and join the party.
I don't really give a crap about people catching me singing in the car, but catching me singing in tight biking clothes with a cat on my lap while letting out a girlish scream was just too much. I turned around, let the cat out at my house, then continued back to the trail. I played the music lower on this trip.