I don’t hate biking anymore. It’s strange to be missing a feeling I had come to terms with always having. I accepted a vague sense of dread or outright terror as part of biking just like helmets and U-locks. At the very best I would feel pride for how far I’d come with a certain reservation and tightness in my chest. Even when I became a year round bike commuter it took a lot of personal pep talking. “Because it’s good for the environment, because it’s good for my wallet, because it’s good for my body, because it makes me a bad-ass” It was a constant mantra because inside I always felt like Calvin.

This summer strange things happened. After a tearful spring, then a surpassing success I still didn’t really expect anything to change. But they did. Driving became more dreadful. I’ve found myself regretting driving when I’ve had the choice. I would get impatient with traffic and would arrive considerably crabby. Consequently I’ve found myself strangely happy to be biking. Continue reading






