First day back from winter break. Day after my crew killed it at the Mummers Parade, first day back after many days off. WHYY says it’s 10 degrees. I’m warm in my kitchen looking out at salt bleached roads and huddled, scrunched shouldered people shuffling quickly, miserably. Thinking about taking SEPTA.
I step outside. SO COLD. My nose instantly hurts. I get my bike out, load it up. Let’s just do this and get it over with.
DAMMIT I FORGOT MY GLOVES.
Down my alley, dodging potholes and icy patches, already whining to myself. For block after block, I have the streets to myself. “Am I the only one who biked today?” a thought not full with pride but with loneliness. My fingers are already cold through my $70 gloves, tears freezing to my cheeks, condensation from my breathing fogs my glasses, ices my goatee.
As I approach the South Street Bridge, I spot my first cyclist. By the time I get to work, I have spotted a total of 10. Not road warriors, normal folks wearing normal clothes. We nod in approval (or sympathy?) towards each other.
Somehow, it felt good to be on a bike today.
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