The other member of that small circle of Neo-Calvinist - Bike Commuting - Accidental IT workers: Brian Janaszek, writes great posts about the daily commute on his singlespeed .
(BTW Brian - why no comments? You don't know how often I want to say "Me too" or just add a thought to your posts. Whats up with the circa 2001 blogging features?) /rant
He linked today to a couple great articles about the challenges, committements and risks of biking to work every day. The best one was by Grant Peterson who ends his essay with a wonderful reflection on the joy of seeing the details of the street from day to day at an observable speed.
The every day commute changes with the seasons, and you’ll find that on days when you’d really rather not ride, the familiarity helps you get through it. You become familiar with the most mundane things on your route—mailboxes, cracks in the road, splashed paint that never got wiped up, remodeling projects in the neighborhood, the same dogs that always bark and think they’re winning when they see you ride away from them as though they’ve done a job protecting their owner’s turf, the same retired people walking their dogs.
On a steep road I commute on, there was a deep gouge, almost a scoop-out, about 4-inches by 4-inches by 4-inches deep. One day, a roundish landscaping rock appeared in it, and I doubt anybody actually put it there. A house nearby and up the road has a lot of these rocks for decoration or whatever, and one must have gotten dislodged and rolled down the hill and plopped into the scoop.
It filled in most of the area of the scoop and sat below street level, but not by much, and over the next 14 months or so, the area around the rock and inside the scoop collected enough debris and dirt and rocks to fill in the space around the rock, so it looked sort of like a big egg in a sandbox, with only the center of the rock peaking out. Then, grass started to grow in the scoop, and grew up to the street level, about half an inch above the rock. In summer, the grass died, and now it’s winter again, and it’s green again, and the rock is barely visible.
It’s not a life-changing experience, seeing that happen, but it matters to me and my daughter, who ride by it every day. When you commute by bicycle, little things like that don’t have to matter, but they start to matter whether you plan for it or not.
I too love the things I see every day riding up missionary ridge. I've seen buildings come to completion, plants growing and die, the city changing, and a number of other noble works of art. But I am also keenly aware of the ebb and flow of trash on the road, of the dog that chases me down until I yell spanish cuss words at it, of the progressive deterioration of sections of asphalt and the cars that seem bent on speeding by as close to my wheel as they can.
These things are nowhere near as elegant, but very present, as crank after crank - I make my way up the ridge.
Recent Comments