Blech

I hate biking in the rain, especially cold rain, but I rode my bike anyway to do a couple of errands on this rainy, cold day. I'm not sure why I made this choice. Maybe it was the opportunity to wear my really cute rain outfit? Maybe it was the lure of the city dump? Maybe it was the reward waiting for me at the end - hot coffee at Sunergos? Whatever the reason, I set out on my fool's errand(s):

If it were a dry day I would go many places and buy lots of little things (like chain lube and shoelaces), but it is not that sort of day so I scaled down to two errands: dump and hardware store. This once-lovely rocker is now broken and busted. A resourceful person would make it into a family heirloom or an interesting planter. I am not that person.

Instead, I am the person who will get cold, wet feet (and that is not a metaphor) toting a broken rocker to the dump alongside an F-350 unloading shingles. Somewhere, a crafty person is crying over the lost possibilities of dumped furniture. I'm crying too, but it's from the acid rain dripping into my eye and burning like holy hell (we just don't hear enough about acid rain anymore; I miss those days).

I bought my zip ties, bolts, and washers at Oscar's Hardware, along with a few other, less interesting, items. Pulling on my wet wool gloves (convertibles!) convinced me it was Black & White time at Sunergos. I don't really know what is in that coffee drink, but it went down smoothly.

The ride home was wet upon wet. Rain ran into my mouth and down my neck. By this point my socks and gloves were soaked. I could try to sound like one of those bike heroes who loves going out in all weather and is made only stronger by adversity. Sometimes the challenge of bad weather can be invigorating. But today? Well, now I know what not to wear in the rain. Blech.

Suburb Replaced By City Center!!!

I started jury duty today, which means a drastic change in my work commute. Normally I drive the car to work, as my home and place of employment are far far apart, with clogged roads between them (though occasionally I do bike it, that being the subject of another post), but now that I've got jury duty it's a sub-10 minute bike commute. Humming, we're humming, my bike and I.

My commute, by bike or car, starts with getting my godson to preschool. Normally we're in the car, but thanks to the Seventh Amendment we are our own engines today. I start out slowly pedaling, but after about 1 block I'm walking. This was our first rest stop. Getting to school took FOREVER. He started to get his lunch out to stave off hunger about 3 blocks into the 5 block journey. Finally, we made it. The other preschoolers were impressed with his scooter. He thoughtfully announced it was my birthday and my knees got hugged:)

I went straight up Eighth Street, right past our village blacksmith, Fred Hutt. I should have included the long line of drays, hansom cabs, and phaetons in this picture. Kentucky is truly the horse capital of the world, as the large number of horses waiting in line for Mr. Hutt to shoe them would have demonstrated (darn that sticky shutter).

After some fancy navigating to avoid horsey-pie and a newly broke bay mare who was running wild down the street, I finally made it to the Hall of Justice (which I later found out isn't really the Hall of Justice (that's across the pedway) but, really, with those columns? It needs to be the Hall of Justice, not the boring old "Judicial Center").

There were two crappy bikes at the bike rack at lunchtime, but at quitting time there was just me and young-guy-on-a-Surly. It was an exciting moment, meeting a fellow bike commuter. We discussed the possibility of rain tomorrow (bike or bus?) and the appeal of the Surly CrossCheck (although he was on a Steamroller).

Note the toeclips, reflective pants band, and SS (or is it a fixie?). I didn't notice if he had a front brake or not. I guess that's something we can chat about during voir dire.

Many new bike lanes have been added to the Metro's streets in the past couple of years (thanks, Jerry). I got to actually ride on one when I went home today. It's not too often that my route coincides with bicycle infrastructure, so when it happens I'm sure to forget to take a picture. I did, however, ride past the famous L & N building on Broadway. My mom retired from Adult Protective Services this past Spring, which, like many other state social services, is housed in this building. My grandma and great-uncle worked for L & N back in the day (though I'm not revealing which day), before this was built. I had this fantasy that all three had worked in the same building, but it turns out my granny and her brother worked down by the railroad yards near Central Ave. Oh well.

Most of my students are from Somalia. Everybody calls this the Somali Mall, not the International Mall. As near as I can tell, only Somali-owned businesses are there. You can get sambosa for a dollar (meat fried in dough; is there a culture without some version of this?), a fancy hijab, go to Koran classes, and rent Indian movies (Somalis love Indian movies - I think it's because there is a lot of romance but no smooching).

And then, BOOM, I'm home again. I didn't even pay attention when the deputy sheriff was telling us about where we could park and which garages gave juror discounts. That self-righteous feeling can be soooo good.

Old Louisville to Highlands

I've done this ride a million times. There are a few different ways to go, but I usually use Oak Street. The upside of global warming is a fabulous November afternoon.

I head east from home.

Soon comes the relieved sigh that comes when I get to pedal again. Soooo relaxing.

But then, on Ormsby, I spot a cyclist apparently floating 6 or 7 feet above Second Street. Could it be a tall bike has migrated to our town? I don't remember seeing one before. I gun it (which means I'm the only one who would be able to tell I've sped up),

make the turn onto Second,

AAAAHHHHHH IT'S THE BIKE HAZARD!! Thank goodness somebody finally filled that hole.

I shoot closer to Mystery Bike and then BLAM she's down on the ground. Even better than a tall bike, she's on a very shiny pennyfarthing! How unexpected, and delightful. I want to talk to her and get a picture of her bike, but a Gritty Urban Dweller keeps following her saying, "I wanna git a pitcher of thaat bike." She scoots away from him and the opportunity is lost.

I did get one kind of crappy picture that I antiqued up to maintain the pennyfarthing mood (which she tried to ruin by wearing contemporary cycling tights and sailor shirt). You can see the Gritty Urban Dweller closing in from the right.

Next I swing along Oak up to Bardstown Road and turn North. I have a couple errands to run, which leads me to Pennyfarthing Sighting #2!!

Something's afoot at the cyclery, it appears. Is some sort of ne0-Victorian cabal infiltrating our cycling lanes and stores? Is it our very own SteamPunk? Does it have brakes? Are fanny packs required? . . . . so many questions . . . .

Next I saw what I believe to be the only ghost bike in the metro (surely there's another one).

Jen Futrell was killed here in 2008. I didn't know her, but a friend did. Apparently she was a very nice person.

(moment of silence)

Shortly thereafter I arrived at my destination, ready to drink coffee and snack with two old friends, Amy and Traci.

The weather turned a little colder on the way home.

I spotted 5 other people on bikes, including a guy waiting for a bus with his bike. If I gave points for coolness and non-car use, he'd win.