Bathers in Buenos Aires’ Fountain Of Youth - Part 1

During my five kilometre journey to KDT I typically share the bicycle lanes with: a motorcyclist whose helmet is dangling from his elbow; a twenty-something hipster pedalling with a leash attached to his bike at one end and a Dachshund’s neck at the other; a chatty couple pedalling side by side in the opposite direction and taking up both lanes; at least one ‘look ma no hands’ genius passing head-on at twenty kilometres per hour; a few people choosing to walk on the bike path, seemingly oblivious to the idea behind the little painted bicycles on the ground; and two or three cyclists speaking on the telephone, or forced to text because they have DJ-sized headphones on. Viewing a sexting would not be as big a surprise as you might think it should be. They all share in common a disdain for the helmet, excepting the aforementioned motorcyclist’s elbow.