I’ve been reading over some stuff in an old journal–yeah, a real live paper journal that I keep–and I found some awesome, bike-love scribbles from February 27 of 2007, back when I was in grad school and student teaching.
Biking to my student teaching gig was a ride over Council Crest and through the West Hills every morning, and that day in February, it snowed on me.
“I mention this because by the time I got home from [student teaching] at 1, I was a soggy, dripping, muddy mess. And the thought of putting my sopping tights back on an hour later to get to class at Lewis and Clark was enough to make me leap at [my roommate's] offer of a ride.
“But it turned out to be really, really weird for me to be somewhere without having used my own power to get there and back. It’s almost like by getting dropped off and picked up, I hadn’t earned the right to be there–and I love that I feel that way. I love that biking is such an ingrained part of my life that it feels wrong when I don’t do it. I love that I am self-propelled and self-sufficient; I love that I rely on something I can (mostly) fix myself for transportation; I love that life and exercise are so inextricably linked.
“Though I was glad for the ride, it ultimately only served to remind me of this: I love my carless lifestyle, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even when it snows.”
How fricken awesome is that? I still feel like this now, a hundredfold, and it’s awesome to see an old version of me setting these thoughts in motion. Thanks, journal-keeping, bike-loving stasia-of-the-past! :)