I’m one month into riding my bike to work and already the reviews are pouring in:
“We laughed. We cried. Two thumbs up,” say Ebert & Roeper, mistaking my commute for the Italian neorealist drama, “The Bicycle Thief.”
“Keep it short and you’ll limit the helmet hair,” says my barber.
“Um, could you bring an extra change of clothes on humid days?” say my co-workers.
I took my bike back to Indy Cycle Specialist for a free one-month checkup and once again, the folks there treated me right. They tightened. They lubed. I tried to buy more crap for my bike and they told me I didn’t need it. Nice people. They’ve earned my loyalty and future bike dollars.
So I’m good to go for the rest of the summer. Just me and my bike, cruising the streets of downtown and near eastside Indianapolis.
I shop at the Marsh grocery on New Jersey Street, sip mochas at the Starbucks on Mass Avenue and browse the downtown Luna Music, Borders and Circle Centre Mall. I’m saving money. Losing weight. Shrinking my carbon footprint. Preserving my 263,000-mile car (the subject of a future blog entry).
Life is sweet.
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