I know I have a bad habit of sometimes over-exaggerating how wonderful certain things are (like my salad spinner — sorry about that one), but I am actually having trouble fully coming to terms with how much better my life has become now that I own a bicycle — and it’s only been a few short days.
I have lived in this city for almost two years now, but I’ve never seen it this way before. I’m a walker — so much a walker — and while that’s such a great way to get to know a place, it’s all so different on a bike. My walk to work used to be one of my favorite parts of the day, but now — zipping my way along the Boston Esplanade, seeing all the happy runners, the crew boats ticking like perfect little metronomes, the pretty, fluffy, funny-faced buckets of white clouds — I’m not sure if it actually gets better than this.
It’s all so simple. You get yourself a bike with a big strong basket and bell that chirps like a little tin bird and you just go go go until you get somewhere. And the going‘s not about the getting, really. Which is to say, without quite saying, that it’s not about the destination. On bike, there is a sense of a journey — a sense so otherwise absent in this ridiculous, humdrum, featherbrained world of ours. And I’m just so in love with it.
Today, my bike and I celebrate our one week anniversary. Things have been great so far, but I think that the best is only yet to come.