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...

It's been four weeks since I halved the number of wheels I commute on, and I'm still having fun. Though the mercury has climbed a bit, I've hewed close to my 4 out of 5 days cycling routine, and fought back against the heat with more breathable shorts and a trunk to tote my work clothes in. I'm even considering a move to an earlier workward ride in order to avoid the increasingly warm, muggy mornings. I've learned a few lessons along the way, too. Among them the ill-suitedness of sidewalks to cycling, as they are designed for moseying legs and feet, not spinning wheels. That lesson came from a lamppost at the cost of a headlight and a bruised shoulder and hip. Also, I've found that I am not very aerodynamic, the corollary of which is that headwinds are a bitch. That lesson came from a blustery cool front at the cost of dirty looks from two turds in a fart-canned Civic and two very, very sore legs. And then there's the gear: sweet, life-affirming gadgetry! A...

The end of four and a half months of being too busy, too tired, or too unprepared, while the weather was busy being too cold, too wet or too pollen-y came Monday morning when I released the brakes and coasted down the driveway on my way to work. Usually, one pedal is the throttle, and the other the brakes, but today both were accelerators (and not because of Toyota, either). Entering the corner-de-sac at the end of our street, I started pedaling, just as I have on dozens of occasions since I determined that I was kinda, pretty much serious about cycling to work. Arriving here (spatially and strategically) took a bit of preparation. I lacked confidence in my ability to cycle competently after nearly a quarter-century out of the saddle, lacked the nerve to navigate fast & busy streets, and lacked a clear picture of just how hard doing such a thing would be. I gained confidence by awkwardly navigating the paths of a nearby greenbelt, then exploring neighborhood streets, much to the am...