If the regular police will not make them obey traffic laws, perhaps we should employ the fashion police to demand that they not be permitted to wear a spandex outfit which was designed for Lance Armstrong around a body which was designed for Ethel Merman.
There ought to be a category series for bicyclists' spandex wardrobe malfunctions.
If one of those babies lets go as a category V, it could take out several blocks of riverfront property and cause the city clean-up crews to spend weeks picking up shards of polyurethane (from which spandex is made) and finding Starbucks wooden stirrers stuck into trees like darts in an Irish pub.
Then there are bike messengers who, I believe, have to take a weirdness test. If they don't look like at waiter at TGI Friday's on LSD then they can't have the job.
I have a bike. It is in the garage, right where I can hop right on it and ride it to work and save money and get healthy.
If the tires aren't flat. And the chain hasn't rusted completely. And the brakes still work.
And if I can find my spandex biking shorts.
On a the Secret Decoder Ring page today: A link to the International Herald Tribune article which got me thinking about this, a link to a "history of the bicycle" web page, a link to the Wikipedia entry on spandex, a Mullfoto showing my actual bike in my actual garage poised and ready for action, and a pretty clever Catchy Caption of the Day.