Tag Archives: bike-commuting

Biking in the Rain in January

25 Wednesday Jan 2012

Posted by in Bike Life

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It’s funny, the very things I expected to dislike about city cycling, or at least find uncomfortable, have turned out to instead number among my favorites. For example, biking in the rain (bonus: doing it in January.)

When I first started bike commuting, I avoided riding in the rain. I mean, who wants to be wet? And cold? Wet and cold on the crowded Boston streets, tires kicking up grime, cars honking and driving too close. That swishing sound as they slosh past. On one of my first rides, I recall whining to a friend whose house I was departing and his expression of sympathy. At the, I remember thinking, crossly, whatever! He doesn’t care!

And then I got out there on the SouthWest Corridor, my tires singing that low, splashy song. Everything smelling a bit brighter. I noticed the pretty little spray created by my front and wear wheels. I realized that I practically had the path, the city, to myself. And I experienced an attitude adjustment (like what the teachers warn about in middle school.)

Truth be told, I don’t love all the rainy days -and sleet just plain hurts! But if it’s a mild January evening and I’m heading out for that six-mile stretch from Cambridge to Jamaica Plain, sure.  Get a little magic of the clean, quiet city along the way . . .  I’m down for the ride.

Cycling rain gear

Admittedly, this is me in my summer gear . . .

Cold and Bold on the Bike Path

12 Monday Dec 2011

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This Monday I set out on bike. It was cold but fresh, and I took the opportunity to snap a photo along the Southwest Corridor bike path that I’ve been meaning to capture ever since some enterprising stencil artist set it down.

Spray painted "Bold" on the bike path 2011Each year, I stretch my cycling season further into the winter.  I’ve been giving a fair amount of lip service to obtaining winter woolens and studded bike tires. Once the snow and ice hit, however, it’s anyone’s guess how often you’ll see me on the path and roads.

Shadow of bike and stenciled word "BOLD"

Weekend Wonder

08 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by in Bike Life, Boston Moments, Learnin', With Friends

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Some weekends are just weekends.  Others are adventures.

An adventure in poetry at the Grolier Poetry Bookshop with January Gill O’Neal and Afaa Michael Weaver. . .

January and Afaa

Notes on poems

Chill adventures in Christmas brunch hosted by my good friend, Patricia . . .
Jess Megna and Alice

Egg souffle

An adventure in meeting the important people in my friend Sidia Maricela’s life at her new co-op home (and some dancing) . . .

New friends in Somerville

Dancers

Overwhelmed adventures in shopping local and handmade Bazaar Bizarre style . . .

Bizarre bazaar

Block printing

Adventures in racing about the city on bike, trying to get to every thing on time . . .

Skate feet

Adventures and advice in proper city-cyclist etiquette at Papercut Zine Library with the ladies of Bay State Badass bike zine. . .

Bay State BadAss bike zine reception

Simulated bike and car

Adventures in connecting with old friends and new through the socially compelling and heart-warming adventure that is a gift circle . . .

Sidia Maricela is under the pigpile

Looking Forward, Looking Back (And Gratitude)

24 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in Boston Moments

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My life in Boston continues to amaze me.  Just in this past week I:

  • Danced until 12:30 PM at the second JP vs Somerville Dance-Off in support of Boston’s own Girl’s Rock.
  • Volunteered for my ninth consecutive year at Pie Central, sorting and quality checking pies for Community Serving’s enormous and enormously profitable pie bake sale.
  • At work, hosted the 40th Annual Thanksgiving Potluck Feast, where at least two hundred community members attended and ate turkeys (purchased by my job, roasted by volunteers) and more dessert than is probably appropriate.
  • Swung by late to my friend’s pre-holiday potluck, where I successfully bombed at a game of Cranium.

The hours I’ve kept:

  • Sunday: 1:30 AM arrive home, by bike
  • Monday: 10:30 PM arrive home, by T, lugging bike
  • Tuesday: 10:30 PM arrive home, by bike
  • Wednesday: 10:30 PM arrive home, by bike

Exhausted?  Yes!  Luckily, at all the above events, I’ve been graciously accompanied by friends, whose energy and enthusiasm inspired my own.

I often compare my experience here in Boston with my younger life in Jersey. Naturally, I’ve had a lot of good times in Jersey, but when I think back to high school, it doesn’t escape me that my scheduled looked more like this:

Weekdays: Up at 7:30 AM (groggy), 8:20 AM school, 12:30 PM bus to second school (a story for another day), 2:30 PM school end/bus back to my home town, 3:00 PM work at library, 6:00 PM picked up by mother or brother, 7:00/8:00 dinner, 9:00 PM homework, 11:00 PM bed

Weekends: Hang with mother, aunt, cousin.  Knit/crochet.  Read.

I don’t mean to imply that my life in Jersey wasn’t a perfectly good life -I was safe, loved, happy, and had all the library access my little heart desired.

Still, (here comes the gratitude), how very thankful I am for strange, funny, exhausting, and beautiful Boston moments!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Bike helmet on chair

Bike helmet in costume a la JP Halloween Bike Ride

MBTA Confessions: Don’t Ask, Just Help!

17 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in Boston Moments

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Giant-binder-clip

One my least favorite activities on the MBTA is to lug my bike and full panniers from Cambridge to Boston. Last night was no different so, as I stood swaying, gamely holding fast to a break lever to keep the bike from rolling, I amused myself with memories of strange, bygone rides.

I’ve had no less than three silent rescues while riding the Green line back in my Allston days:

1.) Struggling to open a GIANT binder clip (see illustration above) while shoving a fat stack of papers into it’s metal maw, I had a male rescuer look on with what I can only assume was amazed pity. Naturally, he stepped forward on the crowded D-line train, oddly silent, and gesture for me to hand him the clip. I did. This resulted in me holding my clip-captured papers on my lap as I tried to decide if I should be amused or embarrassed.

2.) Waiting for a B-train in Park Street, I struggled to open a glass juice bottle.  I tried with both hands, using the cloth of my shirt, grasping the bottle between my knees.  Just as I reached my highest level of voiceless frustration and gave up, a man (notice a trend?) stepped forward and held out his hand.  In silence, he proceeded to open the bottle with a crisp pop and hand it back.  I almost didn’t want to say thank you.

3.) Rinse and repeat #2.

Now, I’ve tried on myriad occasions to assist fellow T-passengers, elder women lugging carts, parents with strollers or pack carriers, people who’ve dropped articles of clothing.  Often, my assistance is declined.  So -combined with the above I can only conclude that, going forward, I should either a.) suddenly become a tall, silent, white man or b.) stop asking and just start helping.

Meet My Bike

09 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Bike Life

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I thought I’d introduce you to an important member of my family. I never loved Boston more than when I started bike commuting from Jamaica Plain to Cambridge. Every weekday, I travel a little over twelve miles to and fro, more when I have evening activities (which is most evenings.)

05_19AThree years in, I’ve logged somewhere in the neighborhood of 5000 bike miles per year. Each winter, I find myself extending my season a little further because it hurts to be off the bike. Typically I’m not a jealous person but watching someone cycle past on a bright day, no matter how bitter cold or how bundled the rider, makes me yearn for my wheels.

Meet my rusty, trusty stead: a pink Raleigh mountain bike hybrid circa 1990s(?) Also known as:

  • The bike
  • My bike
  • The $60 police auction special
  • Heaviest bike on earth (not true, my Huffy was heavier)
  • The tank
  • The rickshaw

Panniers-annotatedMy “trunk” used to be a plastic milk crate, but I quickly outgrew that. Now I’ve a large set of bright yellow Ortlieb panniers. Unlike the bike, they’ve got actual names: Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I named them in part because I have trouble with left and right. So Fred “rings and bell” and Ginger “turns on the light.”

This past fall, I got a death sentence for the bike: frame rot. Sadly, I know our days are numbered. In the meantime, I will continue to appreciate it as the best bike I’ve owned in my adult life, purchased from the first auction at which I hefted a number, hand trembling with anticipation when I won my “prize.” What a prize it has been.

IMG_3882

Wrath On The (Bike) Path

21 Wednesday Sep 2011

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IMG_5150Last night, at around 10:30 PM, I slowed my bike to a stop next to what appeared to be an unmarked police car with two officers inside, taking notes.

I asked: Are you cops on the path?
Police: Yes.
I said: Well, I just want to say thank you.
Officer behind the wheel: *big smile*
Officer in the passenger seat (marking in his notebook): Oh. You’re welcome.

Why the thank you?  Back at the beginning of the summer, I was attacked by children on exactly that stretch of path along the South West Corridor.  It was a terrible experience, being nearly knocked off my bike by two eggs.  Screaming in fear because I couldn’t make out what was happening to me.  Flipping my bike (luckily, I didn’t fall) in my haste to stop, stop, stop! 

I chased those children.  I wasn’t kidding.  And they scattered like marbles, like mercury.  I couldn’t even tell how many there were, and then they were gone.  Leaving just me and my fear and shame and frustration and anger.  Oh, and nearby, a couple of teenagers who watched the whole episode, seeming unaffected and also unwilling to rat out the children.

I called the police and waited half an hour for them to show.  When they did finally, they didn’t seem to care.  It even felt to me that they wanted to dissuade me from filing a report.  What happened to me just wasn’t serious enough, the offenders were just kids, there was nothing the officers could do at the moment besides patrol the path and away, the Boston Police didn’t have jurisdiction over the path, the State Police would need to be called in for that.

I’ve put a lot of thought into what happened to me.  Who the officers might be who looked at me from their car and decided I wasn’t hurt enough.  Who those kids might be, whom, after the attack taunted me from a safe distance and then ran.  To them, I’m just another angry woman on a bike.  Just a target.  But I’m not used to being a victim.  I’m used to first not presenting like a victim, and second, fighting back using whatever means available.

At the same time, one of the values I live by is: first, do no harm.  Another is to understand, look at as many sides of an issue as I’m aware of.  And last, proceed with caution.  Proceed with love.

So I take my opportunities whenever, however they arise.  If I see cops on the bike path, working to keep me safe, to keep other cyclists safe, to keep those kids safe, I thank them.