Nothing can even begin to describe the freedom I feel now. To not be consigned to drive whenever I need to go somewhere, to be free to feel the wind in my face and hair and between my toes, to propel myself over the crest of a hill and exult in the rushing — almost falling free — down the other side: this is freedom.
I just got my new bicycle assembled (the one I'd had since high school was stolen last November), and am feeling once again the footloose mood coming upon me. There's just something about taking a little work to get somewhere that makes it worth going — and since I've been riding to school, mostly, my destinations usually need the motivation!
I've been spending some money on my baby as well. (Yes, my bicycle is my baby: my truck is just a vehicle.) A few days ago I went down to a great little cycle shop in Augusta ("Andy Jordan's," I believe it's called, over on 13th street) and plunked down nearly a hundred bucks for some lights, a saddlebag, and a lock. But she's worth it . . . (What? Isn't everything worthwhile and valuable of the fairer sex? I mean, bikes, boats, computers: they're all "she" . . .)