Team Wet Dog

the cell phone strikes at midnight

It used to be, I rode my bike everywhere. Partly because I didn't live quite close enough to the metro, and partly because I just love to ride. Something about weaving in and around traffic, coasting down hills and feeling faster and freer than when I walked.

In my years here in D.C., I've had three bikes stolen. Three - and the last one was stolen within hours of getting it out of the shop, off of a busy street.

So when I moved to the new apartment about a year ago, I took a break. I locked the bike up in storage, stuck the key in a drawer and forgot about it. Metro was just around the corner and the bike was safely tucked away.

Over the weekend, I pulled my bike out of storage. First time in just over a year. The tires were flat, the brakes were dry and the seat won't stay in one position. It needs a tune-up, because the chain won't move to the third gear.

But I took it out and went for a short ride in Rock Creek Park — Beach Drive is closed off on the weekends, and there are some great hills and curves to ride over and around. I'd forgotten how much fun it is and how good it feels to pedal wherever you go.

The bike desperately needs a trip to the shop, and hopefully I can find someone to do a tune-up relatively soon. But I think I'm getting back on my bike. D.C. is a perfect city to ride in, and nothing wakes you up better — not even a double espresso — than braving Connecticut Ave. traffic at 8 a.m.

— Robert

(5/14/07) 
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