(The blogger, upon a bike, being chased by a levitating leek)
Rediscovering Happiness as a Vélocipédiste
It is Monday night and I recognise that I have arrived home in a better mood than I have for, possibly, the last fourteen-nights. But why? There are probably numerous unfathomable depths in an answer. But allow me to proffer you one:
I cleaned my bike.
Well, it was always going to be more than one… Or at least an expansion on one, so hereinafter I shall waffle. I cleaned my bike (Genevieve, she’s French don’t you know?), I tightened some spokes, I tweaked the brakes, I nudged the fenders in line and pumped up tires.
Then I rode the freshly maintained and clean chained Genevieve to work, sailing up over the slight incline on the way, and then I smiled as I bid Genevieve a good day in the basement.
Then I stayed (a quantum) later than I normally would. Which meant I couldn’t ride safely home in the gloaming at 18:30 of the first day of spring. So then I footpath scampered over curb and under cherry blossom the whole way home. A bunny hop there a second of a wheelie there, I stood up and plinky plonked my way home.