You use your helmet as a hairstyling device.
You can give instantaneous directions to any corner in the city, but only for those using bike paths and public transportation.
All of your pants have frayed cuffs and chain-grease marks.
You keep deodorant and baby wipes at the office.
You are polite to most everyone, you blush at some rap songs, but you swear like a drunken sailor when a grandma in an SUV cuts you off.
Although you speak only English, you're perfectly capable of pronouncing several words in Italian.
The friend who was so happy to see you on his morning drive wonders why you gave him the finger when he honked.
You think nothing of walking into public places dressed like a super hero.
When someone asks for bike-buying advice, you:
a) ask, "How many thousands do you want to spend?"
b) assail them with so many questions about intended use, riding style and the like, not to mention such personal questions as pubic bone height, that you make bike buying sound like rocket science and unintentionally put them off the idea.
When that same person reacts by saying, "It's only a bicycle," your jaw drops and your eyes bug out, and you're only half kidding.
When you encounter rough pavement, you say to yourself, "Ah, pave," and daydream about leaving the peloton in your dust as you speed through Arenberg Forest.
A car goes by with two (your preferred gender here) carrying two bikes. Later, you can't recall their hair color or what make car, but you can ID the bikes' make, model and color.
You sometimes wish you had a longer commute to work, just so you could ride more.
You have 3 bikes and you absolutely need more.
You've been asked if you're a tap dancer.
You ride 50 miles, one way, with a twenty in your pocket and if you actually buy something, you consider leaving the change because of the weight.
You select a restaurant because of its charming, outdoor dining. Your bike is 23 inches away. You lock it anyway. But you can't enjoy your meal because you can't take your eyes off your bike.
You consider the color of the bikes hanging from your ceiling when selecting home decor.
You missed more than two family events this summer due to scheduling conflicts with club rides.
Another cyclist asks you for the location of the nearest bike shop; you fix their bike on the spot.
You and your friends can recreate the Jaws scene where Quint, Brody, and Hooper compare scars, each with an even better story, except yours go something like "This is from a 1990 Buick station wagon that turned left in front of me and put me over the hood."
Multi-ton cars and trucks tear along in front, alongside and behind you... your pulse rate: 66.
You shop for your spring wardrobe at our store, rather than malls and clothing stores.
Your idea of surfing consists of drafting buses, mini-vans, and SUVs to keep up with the green wave.
You practice track stands and bunny hops in your spare time.
When actually driving, you stop at a red light and since no pedestrians are in the crosswalk you start to drive right through before you realize you are NOT on a bike, and slam on the brakes.
Similarly, when driving on the highway at 60 mph, you freak out at a 1-inch-wide groove in the pavement. What if your tires get stuck?
You know the location of all the major potholes between your home and office.
You can't think of the last time you saw any of your friends who don't bike.
This article used with thanks to Charlie McCorkell and John Chiarella!