Blissful Biker, Disdainful Driver

From the time I was but a young lad, bicycles have been a key component in my recreate life.

There was the white and black training two-wheeler we got from Mr. Dansby. Then my Mongoose BMX that cost $75 at a garage sale. And later the Trek 800 Antelope mountain bike.

And many a happy hour I spent on those cycles, rolling up and down Cheyney Court as well as Hall Park at large.

Me and Dan Schuermann would ride down my street, hands off the handlebars, indicating dual peace signs while shouting "Peace in the middle East."

We were 12. Life was a joy.

When I went to Eisenhower Elementary I would ride to school. I count the brief one mile trips made twice daily as gems in my adolescent memory.

Bike beneath me and sack lunch in tow, I'd roll out to face each fourth grade day afresh.

On occassion, me and the other biker boys would take the "long way home" from school through "the field behind the houses."

There was mud. Dirt. Water. Hills.

Glorious.

But Mommy Stu didn't like the "long way home," nor did she care much for the "other biker boys." Riffraff in her mind I suppose.

But I was proud of my BMX steed. Arrogant even. On my one speed, I beat kids who had 21 speed rides. I was a big man on campus, and I have the scars to prove it (Matthew, the neighbor kid and I were racing once. Blazing down the street, he cut me off. I flew. Over the handlebars. Forehead on the street. Grinding. Gashing. Bleeding. Mom screaming. Blood on her dress. Stitches. Pain. Apology from Matthew. More riding shortly thereafter).

And now, as I've lived off campus for the past two years, the advent of a bike commute is again engrained in my schedule.

The distance is a bit longer and my craft a bit more sophisticated, but little has changed. Even the sack lunch remains a vital character in the mix.

And really, driving is somewhat of a drag isn't it? It's costly, halting, inconvenient and isolating.

I like blazing through four-way stops. I enjoy weaving among lines of stopped cars. And not buying gas is always a joy.

So far I've not managed to find any other biker boys to cut off into the woods with after class. And perhaps now I'm old enough for such feats on my own.

But that's no fun. And there's still not peace in the middle East.