Who Was That Masked Man?
Who Was That Masked Man?
This morning I started what I hope to make a regular part of my life: bicycle commuting. I live 5 miles from a new train station that opened a few cold months ago. I have been itching to ride my bike for awhile now, so for the past couple of weeks I have been getting it ready for some late winter commuting. I had the bike tuned up, put on some new tires, fenders, a carrying rack, a headlight and a tail light. With the temperature hovering near 15 degrees, I bundled up, pulled on a ski mask, put on my bike helmet, donned a reflective vest, turned on the bike lights and headed out, the very picture of dorkiness. Save for the sheer loveliness of the pink sunrise set against a full moon sky, my ride into the train station was uneventful and not especially fast. I didn’t get cold or overheated and the cars that passed me gave me a lot of room. I did get to wondering if they gave me the extra room because I was crazy enough to be riding my bike in the winter time and they didn’t want to risk irritating me. Truthfully, very little could have bothered me as I pedaled away, happy to be on the bike again.
After pedaling for 25 minutes or so, I arrived at the station, locked up the bike and got on the train. I did take off the ski mask, though, before I got on the train so as to avoid alarming my fellow passengers. I wasn’t winded or sweaty, but I could feel that my legs need some more conditioning if I want to ride faster in the days and weeks ahead. As the train left the station, I reflected on my WLS journey and how far I have come. I may be a crazy, winter bike riding, ski-mask wearing grandpa, but better that than the unhappy, unhealthy, obese man I was two years ago who couldn’t have pedaled a bike around the block even when he wanted to do so.
RP
