The wife always hated my Lying Nazi Bullshit Diesel.

  • Not because it was a liar.
  • Not because it was killing the planet.
  • Because it was a hatchback.

“You leave your bike shit in there and it stinks,” she has been telling me since 2012. “And you stink. You need a car with a trunk.”

Ok, I’ll admit:

  • I do leave my bike shoes, helmet, glasses and gloves inside the car at all times.
  • I do sweat until “salt” stains cover every cloth or plastic surface.
  • There are days, when to take a really deep breath, I do have to roll down the windows (but not every fucking day).

If I park the Lying Nazi Bullshit Diesel in the garage and roll down the windows, the wife tells me the garage stinks too.

I didn’t know plastic could take on a smell, until one day I “lost” my cycling glasses… I found them in the house.  I could smell them 4-feet away.

But I didn’t really believe that the odor ruined the nazi diesel.

In my moments of private bullshit, I just assumed along with being completely unpredictable, she had the power of smell like some kind of superhero on the Captain Planet show.

In the real world, I give other people rides and no one complains. So it’s just the opinion of my spouse — everybody ignores that opinion at least half the time. It’s the only way two people can stay together for more than a month.

Then one Friday evening, I’m driving back from Tucson to Phoenix. I get pulled over by AZ Department of Public Safety officer.

DPS at car door
Stole the image from here:

DPS walks up to the passenger side of the car, and I roll down the window. He doesn’t ask any questions.

“Step out of the vehicle and meet me behind the car.”

I’ve been pulled over before. Being a middle-age white guy, I’m not expecting a beating or cavity search. Why am I getting out of the car?

What the fuck? He didn’t say “please” and he didn’t call me “sir” or “boss”. Am I about to get my ass-kicked by a cop?

My expensive carbon fiber road bike is hanging off the rack on the back of the car. The cop asks me about cycling.

Ahhh… I can feel the white privilege washing back over me. He didn’t even put his hand on his pistol or baton, even though I was 6 inches taller and 100 pounds heavier than him.

Turns out I was going 22 mph over the speed limit — according to his radar. But that shit must be broken. I set the cruise control to 74 — 9 miles over what I thought was the speed limit.

“It’s only 55 through here,” he says. He writes a ticket for only 9 mph over. A small fine, no points. It’s good to be white.

“So… how come you asked me to step out of the car,” I ask.

“When you rolled down the window, there was a very ‘fermented’ smell,” he said.

Shit. I tell him about the wife and her all-powerful smeller. He sort of laughs.

“Now I have to tell my wife, that the State says I stink too…. Instead, can’t you just hit me over the head a couple of times with your baton?”

He looked confused. Must be single.

I still hadn’t decided what car I’m getting to replace the Lying Nazi Bullshit Diesel.

But the wife and the State of Arizona insisted I get one with a trunk.

Update 2019:

I didn’t get a car with a trunk — got a civic hatchback.  The wife says I still stink.  But not as much — my fucked up knees have kept me from cycling.