I ride like an eagle soaring on thermal updrafts...
I stayed at Chris’s last night, and am writing you from the train to Sac. I got the good set-up; a most excellent scone, coffee in my adorable mug, a seat at a table with an outlet, listening to music. Lots of smiley smart looking guys on the morning commuter train, which I’d never taken before. One locked his bike to mine because the regular bike racks were full. I trust that Clara is whispering suggestions to his bike right now.
I rode my bike down from Chris’s house in the hills, blowing 700 feet of potential energy in one twenty minute ride. It was great. Anand rode his bike across the country and said that he ended up liking climbing the
My love for Clara is verging on the bike mysticism with the swirly eyes that coalesce into heart-shaped pupils. I have manfully resisted writing about it, because there’s no point. If you ride your bike a lot, you already feel it. If you don’t ride, it will sound implausible and like bike-proselytizing. So I can’t really tell you about it, how good and comforting and uplifting it feels to ride, and how I get that feeling several times a day. Every time I go some place, in fact. I will say, though, that I don’t think I am especially prone to loving a machine or a means of transportation. So if I can get the bike-love, I think anyone who switched to a bike could get the bike-love (provided that she has safe enough streets that she isn’t always riding scared).
So anyway: bikes, RAH! Trains, RAH! Scones, RAH! Writing to you while traveling, RAH! I’m still really happy with my no-car choice.