After my not-entirely-green indiscretions with the GOOD crew on Saturday night, I'm quickly rattling myself back on track for the final push. For the past couple of days I've eaten almost exclusively greens and apples from the local farmers market, filling the stomach out with some tremendous ciabatta (local grains, all organic) that I really wish I'd discovered a lot earlier this month.

(By the way, that picture, courtesy of Jill at 50rx3, features both the jeans and the bike to be discussed. I'm trying hard to please those perfectionist authorities at GOOD who insist on images with every post. This is the best I can do.)

I also decided to finally do some laundry. Was sort of forced to, actually. Aren't the underlayers always the determining factor? (So, yes, the last of an ample supply of boxers finally landed in the laundry bag.) In any case, my rather insufficient planning in this undertaking did put me in a less-than-comfortable position this morning. I'll explain.I decided to handwash in the sink, using some chem-free Dr. Bronners soaps that I'd rescued from nearly hitting the dumpster at the end of Earth Fair. Hand washing twenty-someodd pairs of boxers isn't exactly a hoot, but it's considerably easier logistically than trying to figure out how to hang them all to dry in a cramped shared apartment. But the boxers aren't really the story, cause they all dried by the morning. The dungarees, however, not so much. (And, yes, I think dungarees is a funny word-possibly even funnier than trousers.) I even hung them out the window, but damnit if that carhartt denim doesn't hold its moisture.

To get to the point, this morning my pants were still wet. Now I realize that I could easily have found another pair of pants in my closet. But that's easier to realize now than at 7:30 in the morning after a paltry few hours of sleep. I figured they'd dry on the ride to work, especially considering the blazing speeds I can cruise on my backup bike. (Note: "backup bike" is actually much nicer and faster than "bad bike," which was recently stolen. "Bad bike," however, had more character in one loop of handlebar tape than "backup bike" has through its entire frame. Yeah, I'm still bitter.) I was right-the pants did dry. But not before chilling me to the core and possibly catalyzing a bout of pneumonia that'll likely set in just as I come into the clear from this ever-more-perilous experiment.

(Pots of free-range, organic chicken soup can be hand delivered to my Brooklyn home any evening after 8pm.)

Previously: Gather Round Greens

Next: Greenest Month Recap

Ben Jervey is the author of The Big Green Apple