The indignities of walking
yep, I'm
a wuss
a wuss
Now is the winter of our discontent, so penned the Bard. Though Richard III wouldn't have made it until our glorious summer this January. It's cold; Dr. Zhivago cold. The kinda' cold that freezes your milk on the 15 minute walk home from Jewell. That's why I, the 24/7 all weather biker am walking. Like any citizen of The Windy City, I tell folks it ain't the cold; it's the ice. To be a wuss is one thing. To admit it ... is quite another.
It certainly doesn't help that last Sunday I arrived home toasty-warm from the hottest place in The Philippines. So except for Sunday's Full Moon Ride, I've joined the lofty ranks of ... pedestrians. Certainly there are times when wending my way along the fascinating thoroughfares of The Second City would be thoroughly stimulating. This is definitely not the time.
This is the time to hunker down. Imagine a world without cages. Life flows at a slower pace. Folks are routinely late for appointments because they can't find a free place to lock up. And during an extreme winter, for those of us above the Mason-Dixon Line, the bicycle-powered snowplows haven't been cleared the secondary streets. What would you do? Velo-passion is one thing ... insanity is quite another.Labels: bikeWINTER, Chicago, pensées
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 8:10 PM
4 Comments:
"What would you (I) do?" On a specific level, I'd probably ride. On a general level, I'd do exactly what you are doing and adhere to my comfort level. It ain't fun if it ain't fun. Also, walking is great fun on its own terms. Get some Yaktrax though.
Bike winter humbles
Comfort zone crumbles like ice
On my rusty chain
Ice melts in the hand
yet there is power to knock
men low, to still wheels.
Thanks for the comments and haiku! Just found this at today's NYTimes Op-Ed section. Even though it's about The Windy City's impact on Obama, there's a great snippet about winter's impact on all of us:
... gruff solidarity of survival is an essential part of living in Chicago: we huddle together against calamity, be it bone-breaking winters or hopeless public transportation; greedy, corrupt civic leaders or fantastically hot summers. But once the hardship seems to have retreated, we break apart and return to our cherished individualities and sad distances. There is unlimited access to the hard facts of life here, plus the kind of pride that can never be purged of shame. Enjoying a sunny day by the lake, a friend once overheard the following line, which was seasoned by an expletive: “Don’t you smile at me — get off the bike path!”
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