I love my bike. I hate to love my bike, too. And, yes, I love to hate my bike from time to time.

My ride to work is quite short, if you talk about bicycling. It's 4 miles. There are bike races called 'centuries' because they last for 100 miles.

My ride to work is grueling because it has 200 feet of climb, and over a rather short distance. To some, that's no big deal. Then again, these same some are probably laughing because I only mentioned centuries and not longer races.

To me, it's a big deal because ... well, I'm a big kitty. That's why I ride my bike. I'm not so big that the police will arrest me if I try to wear bike shorts, but I'm also not so fit that I can wear them with pride. (That's also why I don't own any bike shorts.)

Fortunately (for my coworkers) my campus has a shower. I try to maintain good relations with my coworkers (not just in the hygienic sense) - you never know when you need someone's expertise in some area.

Yesterday, a coworker who I admire greatly offered me a ride home. We live close, so it's not out of his way. However, he normally doesn't do this, so I figured he wanted to talk. He did.

We talked. We vented. We had concerns about certain issues at work that would either bore you because they are so ordinary, or get me into trouble because they are so sensitive.

It's good to hear your own fears being voiced unprompted by someone you look up to. Of course, it also reinforces that fear, but that's another issue.

For me, this is a moot point. I'm changing jobs by the end of the week, but a recent email from my current boss looks to redefine the end of the week as 11:59PM Sunday, from the size of the task he's asking.

Oh, and a closing malaprop:

Son: That's a mute point.

Mother: Don't you mean moot point?

Son: No, it's mute because I don't want to talk about it anymore.