Was in a melancholy mood on my way to the dentist this morning. It was supposed to be riding day but this side trip ended that. Saw a cyclist commuter a mile or so out and heaved a sigh. Even with the heat and effort and danger, I wished it was me.

Then I saw her.

On the Lakemont bike lane, she was riding one of those old fashioned bikes (penny-farthings are one name for them). But this wasn’t an old one – it looked remilled, built along those lines. She was sitting about four-five feet up, just spinning that big wheel and smiling like a dog. The funny thing was that she was dressed all in modern bike clothing, the flamingo suit, the bike bag, the helmet, the gloves, all that. It was like seeing an F-1 driver in a model-T.

She looked like a commuter. Really? How far? And what would she do at those stops we commuters must make, those lights? What does she do – step down the back using that cross-piece and hold the bike erect until the green?

As impractical as cycle commuting is in this town, she just made it a little bit more so.

And I understood her point, and loved her for it.

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