When I came back to New York last Friday, my bike was gone. It had three locks on it, but it didn’t matter. It had vanished.
I know. It’s just a bike, right? This happens all the time.
But, sometimes I think about what the thieves were like, where they are now, where my bike is. I think about it being in a warehouse with other bikes, or being sold, or being painted to hide its identity. I think about how they may have plotted to steal it, about how much time it took to hack through my heavy-duty cloth-covered chain in the dead of night.
I wonder who it will belong to now.
On the weekend at my mother’s house in New Jersey, I mourned my bike and the things it gave me: the discovery of neighborhood cafes and restaurants, the freedom of meandering the city to my leisure, the windblown rush of zipping down streets crowded with honking cars—ultimately, a sense of belonging in New York. I would feel it when stopped at a red light with other cyclists, or co-yelling at tourists in the bike lane on the Brooklyn Bridge. We were one unit; we were bicyclists.
I hadn’t historically been the biggest fan of New York—but having a bike had helped to shift that for me. Continue reading A Story About A Bike + Receiving vs. Manifesting + Love Something A F*cking Lot
I’m in Spain, buying too many books in Castellano, drinking too much coffee (and wine and sidra and vermut and…), and really allowing myself to indulge in play. Lunch at 4 with wine? Sure. Gluten? Dairy? Pile ’em on top of each other and send them my way.
In terms of a more healthy type of play, yesterday I acquired a bicycle from the generous owner of La Bicicleta Cycling Cafe & Workspace, which I can borrow until I leave in 5 days.
I realized I had never biked in Madrid before—and I lived here for almost a year. I’m excited to combine my passions in a way I never have before—in this case, being in a world brimming with my favorite other language, and of exploring that world by bike.
Bicycling creates a flow, an ease, a rooted nugget of pleasure inside of me that can cancel out the negative outcomes of unexpected diversions. And in Spain, there are many: restaurants not opening when they say they will, losing something (my laptop sleeve now lives in Barcelona), machines eating your credit card at the train station then shutting down completely, clearly satisfied to have a siesta after eating your delicious only way of paying for things. Sigh.
Continue reading The Word “Retired” Should Be Just That
Happy beautiful Sunday! This is going to be an epically gorgeous 60/70-degree week in Boulder. Seeing as though I’m not sure how many more we’ve got left—yes I’m looking at you, little snow-capped dirt pile outside my window—I’m kicking off a 100-Mile Bike Ride Week starting today.
Why am I doing this?
- This might sound way easy to some (hi, Amante Coffee clientele) and ridiculous to others, but I know it was a challenge for me to fit in 89.4 miles the one week I did it. So, I want to step up my own personal fitness game.
- It’s going to be a gorgeous week! And Boulder has already had its first snow. Many of my friends have put their bike stuff away—but let’s bring it back out for one more week of gorgeousness.
- I want to celebrate the beautiful playground I live in. After the 100-year flood we just experienced, it’s so nourishing to be able to see all parts of it: the unscathed, the etched in, the massaged, the forever altered. I’m so grateful to live here, and for me, this is a play-based reclaiming of my rocking city.
Continue reading Play-Based Reclaiming: I’m Riding 100 Miles This Week in My Beautiful Boulder!