I’m a cyclist.

I became a cyclist when I realized I was only really using my car to go to movies in. (Also I crashed the car, but that wasn’t my fault.)

Vancouver is known as Terminal City. Sounds a little ominous, but when you get here, there’s the ocean, and there are the mountains. Vancouver is usually either the end or the beginning of a journey, because it's not really on the way to anywhere. If you want to go further, you pretty much have to fly, climb, or float. Because of this position, rapid growth, and poor urban planning, the traffic on main roads can be pretty crazy, because we don’t have any freeways. (OK, one, but it doesn’t really get you anywhere useful.)

I was a little scared of the cars at first, because I’m from a smaller city and not used to the traffic here. But Vancouver’s done a pretty good job of what they call “traffic calming” in residential areas, as well as by designating bike streets. What cars there are are usually going pretty slowly, and when motorists do stupid shit, I get to yell at them like the self-righteous fuck I am.

Since cars aren’t really a problem for me, something else inevitably rose to the challenge.

Bugs.

British Columbia is not known for its bugs. We have mosquitoes, but nothing like the rest of Canada. We don’t have anything particularly large or particularly poisonous. During the summer, though, we have clouds of Tiny Circling Flies.

When you cycle, you pant. At least I do. And about twice a week I inhale one of these little guys, and they always lodge in that awkward and barf-inducing spot between the tonsils and the epiglottis. Remember, I’m on a bike moving about 30 km/h, so when this happens, flipping out isn’t really an option. There are three strategies:

1) gag and retch and make hairball-harfing noises.
2) stick a finger down the throat to dislodge the bug. Dangerous because you can a) stimulate a barfing reflex or b) squish the bug, which may lead to a) anyway.
3) swallow.

I usually choose option 3.

Being a curious sort of fellow, I’d always wondered what the Tiny Circling Flies were up to. Bugs pretty much eat, mate, and die. When the Flies are doing their Circling, they aren’t dying, and there’s nothing for them to eat. I looked up the Tiny Circling Flies, and I didn’t really need to know what I found out. The clouds I ride through are Tiny Circling Fly orgies. So not only am I getting extra protein, but it is in the form of fly love juice.

Maybe I should get some sort of mask.

The other day I had a unique bug experience while cycling to work. Unique in the level of its suckitude.

I was zooming down a hill on W. 10th (my favourite part of the ride), and I felt something hit my face and cling to my bottom lip.

Pouty-looking actresses like Audrey Hepburn are often referred to as having “bee-stung lips.” Let me tell you that actually having a bee-stung lip is not very much fun. Curvy women are also referred to as wasp-waisted, and now I don’t like that expression either. There is no better way to start your day than being stung in the face by a wasp. Woo-hoo an’ shit.

By the time I got to work I looked like a kid who’d dropped his ice cream, and the PermaPout stayed all week, itched like hell, and got me made fun of. I suppose I can’t blame the little fucker…I suppose if a massive moving object struck me out of the air while I was on my way to work I’d probably want to protect myself too.

I’m pretty pro-bug for the most part. I even defend wasps when people freak out at barbeques, because I learned that yellowjackets are one of the primary predators of mosquitoes and houseflies. I don’t like to kill anything I don’t have to, but these experiences are making my live-and-let-live stance pretty untenable.

It’s almost the weekend. I think I’ll stay off my bike. And maybe buy some Raid.