First Lilacs

They actually had to pretty much bonk me on the head for me to notice that they're finally opening up. I wouldn't even have remembered it was time for them, except that there were some wide open and tossing their odiferous selves all over the place in Cambridge over the weekend.

On this ride (technically yesterday), I got brave and rode with the traffic on the congested part of my route. Speaking of technicalities, I wouldn't actually call it brave. I got some help from a woman with a trailer and child in tow. I met her at a cross street where I guiltily slunk down off the sidewalk and waited behind her to get back on and use the street properly. It reminded me of waiting in line to jump in when we used to play double dutch in elementary school. You have to sort of bond with the traffic as it whizzes by until finally it's time to slip into one of the spaces between.

"It's a lousy road," she said. "You just have to take up a lane and let 'em go around you." But what if they DON'T, I couldn't help thinking, though I just nodded and raised my eyebrows as though I did this every day. I fell in behind her when she pulled out, letting her be my training wheels. And the cars did go around us.

I'm thinking maybe I should get a trailer to haul around just so I'd take up more space and be harder to miss (sight-wise, that is). Or maybe this would be a good reason to have kids?

I got there lots faster, incidentally. It apparently takes a long time to wait for walk signals at intersections and then push your bike across. Plus I'm pretty sure I could hear the people in the cars (who were likely experienced, savvy, and cool cyclists themselves) rolling their eyes at me. I'm pretty sure most everyone spends most of their time paying attention to how cool I do and don't look.

But I'm makin' progress. Here's a pic from along the way, and the tulips, for good measure.

One of Those ...Days

I'd be heavily remiss were I not to post today, being it some sort of ride your bike day, nationally speaking, so here I am. Sadly, in order to make it to Cambridge in time for my haircut without foregoing my last billable hour of the week, in a week of few such hours, I shall not be riding. It's a darn shame, considering the weather. We don't get much actual spring in these parts, so these days of sun and dryish warmth are few. But, you know, hair has always been a priority of mine.

I'll make up for it next week, though, come what may. And there are photos to come as well, I promise. I just need to get schooled in it. Proper photo-posting, that is.

Sweet riding, any who so endeavor today.

A Headwind and A Recurring Theme

I set out on two wheels this morning thanks to an uncharacteristic (but nonetheless very real) traffic jam on Congress Street yesterday afternoon. The sign outside of those Charles Street condos that haunted Storrow Drivers for years popped into my brain, amended as follows: If you were on your bike, you'd be home now.

Also, there was the promise of 63 degrees and sun. So off I went. You see where this is going. I wound my way peacefully through the neighborhood and out onto the bike path that winds along the river only to be met by a furious wind, throwing sand in my eyes and ache in my ears. Oh, I thought to myself. This is the real test. I hadn't had to fight the wind before and oy, it's way harder.

It reminded me of something that seems to be coming up a lot lately. Last night I was talking to the librarian about the neighborhood protest of the proposed branch closing. He was talking about how impressed he was with the showing and organization at the protest. "Isn't it funny," he said, "how we liberal, intelligentsia types don't really show up until our backs are right up against a wall?" I'd been thinking a similar thing a few days earlier. I hadn't ever looked at a city budget proposal until they threatened to take the library away. We may yet lose it, a cruel demonstration of the high cost of cluelessness.

And a few days before that, I found myself waffling about whether or not to submit an application for the choreographer's showcase that the Portland Ballet puts on every summer. It wasn't until I discovered that the VCR wasn't playing nicely with the video camera that I went into high gear, racing all over town looking for ways to get the situation sorted out, forgetting entirely my ambivalence and apprehension about the whole thing. Just like when my trig teacher said, after a few weeks of, at best, lackluster performance on quizzes, "you know, maybe trig is just more than you want to take on as a math student." You can probably guess how that ended.

Throw a roadblock up in front of me and I transform into an unstoppable accomplishment machine. When there's nothing in the way, though, good luck getting me to do much of anything.

A few words on hair...

My hands are still a little shaky from my Second Ride of the Week, so I apologize for any errant letters or other imperfections...

Jon asked me yesterday what on earth I could be blogging about that had to do with riding my bike to work, and the first example I gave was helmet head. I have lots to say about that. In Jon's honor, I decided to do a little experiment this morning, once I learned that I had a serious case of product-induced bedhead. I will be posting a series of photos, once I learn how to do it, that document said experiment. 'Twill be a sight to behold, I assure you. Here's the spoiler: helmets do not necessarily "cure" bedhead, as one might hypothesize.

Yesterday's Ride

I'm supposed to be a writers' group right now, but I rode my bike to work yesterday and I've been dying to write about it ever since. But all these things kept happening and this is the first second I've had to actually do it.

It wasn't that special a trip, really, but the thing was that I almost didn't do it. I'd planned on it, knowing that it'd be sunny and warmish, but then I woke up overwhelmed by the day and all there was in it, particularly the heartache associated with the impending closing of our neighborhood library, and as the time approached by which I'd have to leave in order to make it on time by bike, the ride seemed less and less likely.

And then somehow I rallied. It was really like my legs knew something my brain didn't. (Go figure.) The whining in said brain was piercing as I scrambled around trying to make up the time lost to moping, pumping the tires, smashing the helmet down over the earflapped hat (it wasn't all that warm, after all). I DON'T WANNA! was the gist of it.

I got out there, slung myself over the seat, and I was off. The river was fogged in, and the traffic was out in droves for my first rush hour ride, and my legs weren't really up for it, but I got there, and I spared myself a few miles in the less-than-stellar loaner I'm driving while my car's in the shop.

And, yes, I lost track of being overwhelmed by the day. By the end of it, we were out with the rest of the neighborhood letting the local TV folk know we don't intend to let it go quietly. (I haven't actually seen the footage, because I don't have the right video player, so you may actually see my silly mug if you get the clip to play.) We don't know if we're any closer to keeping the library, but I was glad to know I wasn't the only one who would miss it. The kids made the best signs, of course.