Yesterday I was reflecting on how much I love riding a bike. I rode in the early evening from North Berkeley to West Oakland, winding my way through so many interesting neighborhoods, feeling so happy and free.
For as long as I can remember, I have ridden bikes.
As a child, summers were all about racing around the neighborhood on a bike with my friends. I’d ride my bike to the library, the convenience store, and the comic shop on the weekends.
In every place I’ve lived in the world — from Texas to DC to New York City to Geneva, Switzerland — I’ve had a bike with me. I can’t imagine being any place for long without one. Having a bicycle just opens up a place for me, collapsing distance and making the journey as pleasant as the destination.
I currently own two bicycles, my fancy Brompton folding bike — the most expensive thing I own — and a sturdy road bike for longer rides. Despite appearances, San Francisco is a great bike town — with lots of bike paths to get most anywhere in the city. Few things bring me as much peace as rolling through Golden Gate Park on a sunny day, along the Embarcadero with the bay alongside me, or over the Golden Gate Bridge into Sausalito.
Bikes are the best.