This week marks the end of my semester of teaching and the beginning of. well, summer-ishness. In New England, real summer isn’t coming for awhile, but my feelings of elation that “school’s out!” certainly are.
I haven’t cycled much this winter and spring, so am getting a late start on the season. This means I will be slow moving on two wheels– slower than I would like. Just writing these words, I’m puzzled at myself. Why worry about this? Why mind the speed? If I need to be somewhere quickly, either I take the car, or — if it is around town– the bike is almost always faster (traffic plus parking equals ride the bike, Catherine!).
I’ll be writing about slowness this week, in particular about slow runners in marathons and recent news articles about the scorn they have been subjected to. Competing while slow takes determination (I know a bit about this), so instead of scorn, slower competitors deserve our praise. More on this later.
For now, here’s a reblog of a post I did about the joys of around-town biking and the pleasures of slowness on two wheels. I hope you enjoy it, and look for my new post this week.
I’m a cyclist. I own a lot of bikes— six, to be exact (I keep telling people that bikes are like shoes—you need different ones for different purposes and occasions). I have my road bike for riding long distances, and a mountain bike for single-track trails in the woods, and some others as well. For cyclists, bikes can be a status symbol, and people are constantly upgrading to the newest, lightest, sleekest model. But these days, my favorite bike is a 1991 Trek 850 fully rigid (no suspension) mountain bike, called The Antelope (Trek’s name for it, not mine). I bought it for $100 from a bike club friend about three years ago. It’s heavy enough on its own, but I added a rack, panniers for carrying loads of stuff, and fenders. It is pretty much a tank, which is what you need for riding around (and sometimes through) the…
View original post 846 more words