I have a bicycle, albeit a crappy one. I ride it pretty much every day. (I'd ride it a lot more if it had an ashtray and a beer holder, but that's neither here nor there...)
Living where I live, in an extremely bicycle-friendly neighborhood, in an era of $4/gallon gasoline, I'd have to be crazy to not ride a bike. I mean, seriously, the nearest grocery store is only a couple blocks away; it would be silly to take the car unless it was, like, twelve degrees outside or peeing down rain.
Apparently, because I have a bicycle, I need to wrap myself in spandex and grow a martyr complex. I need to gather in huge mobs, block streets, and act like some kind of weirdly self-righteous, anorexic, granola-breathed biker gang member; a heck's angel, if you will, and terrorize yuppie commuters in little Japanese cars. (I wonder what would happen if the frustrated and cut-off person had been named Billy-Bob and was driving a jacked-up 4x4 instead of an Impreza?)
Now that I know all the stuff involved, maybe I'm not ready to be a cyclist. I'm apparently entirely too laid-back, for one thing...