04 September 2008

Day Twenty (Commute Day Eleven)

(Saw this on the ride home last night and had to stop to snap a pick. )

Dear Blogeria,

Try as I might I can't get the thought out of my head: Mom was right. Not in the pre-fab marketing survey sense wherein Choosy Moms choose Jiff, but rather in the visceral exhortations imploring me to "get that out of [my] mouth," "[not] pick at that" or "let [my] brother out of the dryer". Seems there's some impulsive instinct hardwired in moms that lets them instantly detect bad ideas and communicate them in unwavering proclamation.

Moms know stuff.

So it comes as no surprise that I'm really dragging my heels on telling my parents about the car swap for fear of her optimistic but half-hearted support. I called them the weekend of the event but couldn't bring myself to relay the news via voice mail. And here we are three weeks into the Year of the Bike and I'm still writing "Pig" on all my checks.

Today, I'm pulling off a commute trifecta heretofore undocumented in modern times: Bike, light rail and jogging. I had a doctor's appointment in far-off suburbia this morning, so I took the MAX into the city and rode south on the waterfront. On the way home I'm leaving my mostly unused mountain bike at work for would-be participant's in September's Bike Commute Challenge--a local event put on by the non-profit Bicycle Transportation Alliance--who lack a functioning bicycle, and I'm running to the trolley which goes to the light rail and then running home from the nearest stop. I couldn't figure out a way to work in the aerial tram.

As I recall, there was another thing mom used to say in the waning days of summertime when the Match Game reruns were over and the sibs and I were climbing the walls with boredom (and driving her up same said walls): "Get out and ride your bike!"

Yeah, mom was right.


Nivek said...

Yes, she was right.
However, in my case, my brothers and I proceeded to take our bikes out to the cul-de-sac. One person would stand in the middle with a big red 4-square ball / dodgeball while the rest of us would ride in circles around the dead-end. I, on my all blue with matching blue tires, seat and grip, 10-speed Schwinn, pedaling furiously in 7th gear (my favorite gear). The person with the ball would try to knock us off our bikes. Good times, good times. It added the phrase "and don't hurt each other" to the end of most of my mom's exclamations.

Piuta said...

Interesting to know.