Bicylce Love

The slow (and sometimes stalled) process of fixing up my once rust-bucket bike has come to a triumphant end.

It is ridable; I am riding. I am learning how to balance thin road tires, I am hunched over ram horn handlebars; I am ecstatic and may be in love with this bike. I've brought it inside and will hang it from my ceiling. In the meantime, my ass is sore.

It has snowed for three days straight. Today I stopped waiting for it to clear and layered on thick socks, thermal base clothes, water resistant pull-overs, woolly hat, gloves. I peddled willingly through the wet and slushy streets, contentedly shwish-shwish-swishing.

Half-rain, half-snow spattered and clouded my glasses, blurring the finer details of my neighborhood. I huffed up the hills and beamed as I flew back down them. My nose was numb, my cheeks stung with wind, my fingers stiffed around the bars. My legs, however, were delightfully warm.

I <3 this bike.