Treason of Words

I entered this post in the My Ride Writing Contest at Austin on Two Wheels , and was named the winning entry for Week 9. When I discuss my commute, the first two questions are invariably “How far do you ride?” to which I respond “One-point-six miles each way, if Google is to be believed,”  and “Do you ride during the summer, too?” Last year, my answer was “As long as I can bear it.” As it turned out, I managed to pedal my heat-averse, AC-lovin’ self home from work all through last summer. This year the answer is “Yep, and it’s not so bad as you’d think!” Sunk into the earth about as deep as my chest, a small parking garage is where my ride home from work begins. The access ramp at its rear provides a fun end to my morning ride as well as a sprightly start to the homeward trek. When I’m reasonably certain that nobody’s about to pull out anywhere between the bike rack and the exit, I sprint from the front of the garage to the ramp, suddenly popping up onto the quiet lane like a penguin

I entered this post in the My Ride Writing Contest at Austin on Two Wheels , and was named the winning entry for Week 6. Four out of five weekdays, I stir myself from bed and tidily fold up my work clothes in my bike bag. Instead of donning the dress-code conforming shirt and khakis, I instead slip into a loose sweat-wicking t-shirt and shorts. No spandex for me, though; that’s a privilege, not a right, and one my chunky behind has yet to earn. The morning is misty, not too warm, but the warmest yet this year. I greet Syphy (short for Sisyphus, as their tasks are much alike), my grey two-wheeled steed, as I wheel him out of the backyard shed and check on the tires’ pressure. I close the shed and then the gate before I step onto the driveway to don my helmet and switch on my blinkenlights. Pausing a moment after I throw my leg over the seat to listen to the stillness of the neighborhood against the muted roar of traffic on nearby Metric Blvd, I can hear the urgent blast of the Red Line