For the love of bikes

Tuesday's bike commute was maybe my rainiest yet. I typically opt for the bus when it's precipitating, but this time I just put on an extra layer and decided to give it a shot. Not only did I somehow get to and from work faster than usual, but I really had fun. I lifted my feet up from the pedals to ford the deeper puddles in deserted Forest Park, squinted into the chilly raindrops pelting my face, and even acknowledged good drivers (and there really are a lot them out there--sometimes I forget) with the occasional smile or wave.

In the Grove, across from Sweetie Pie's, one not-so-awesome driver a good 30 yards behind me accelerated quickly after I signaled and took the lane to avoid a line of parked cars on the right. Pulling into the opposing-traffic lane to zoom ahead of me as we neared the stopped traffic at Manchester, she just barely beat me to the red light. As we waited for the light to change, I scooted up beside her sedan, waving and motioning for her to roll down her window. I wanted to remind her that cyclists are permitted to take the full lane as needed. She pretended not to see me. I tried again, but still nothing.

At Earn-a-Bike class a couple weeks ago, one of the students told us about his dream bike. Among other fabulous features, it would include flotation tires (for biking on water, duh) and a force field. The force field would be better than a helmet, this little guy explained, because "it protects more than just your melon." :-) He had a point, and sometimes I wish my bike had one. Then again, not being enclosed in a metal moving house on wheels--or a super-protective force field--is part of the appeal. You experience the road, the neighborhoods, the wind, and your fellow creatures, instead of blasting through somewhat removed from it all.

Last weekend, I watched as a helmeted tricyclist stopped at the stop sign near our apartment. A car on the cross street approached the quiet intersection at about the same time. The driver smiled at the little fellow and his dad (presumably) perched on the bicycle behind him and waved them across. The tricyclist placed his feet back on the pedals, lifted one arm up off his handlebars, and waved sweetly at the patient driver, as he slowly wheeled his way across.

"When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking." -Sir Arthur Conan Doyle