This week I was back to work, and so back to commuting on the bicycle. I am thankful that I don't have to do it pulling Harvey in the trailer, as much as I enjoy the extra exercise; in a bitter-sweet ceremony a week or two ago, the hitch was swapped over to Leah's bike and she is now the one who pulls him to the playground, the library, and the Whole Foods. I just go back and forth to work.
Not that that isn't exciting at times! So far, in just four days of commuting—I had today off, for that extra-long Labor Day weekend—I've encountered punk kids taking up the whole bike path, cross-country skaters swinging deadly steel-tipped poles as they swerved back and forth, and a car that tried to right-hook me twice in the space of a few hundred feet. Really! It had just barely passed me when it turned right onto a side street and I was only saved from having to brake suddenly by the fact that I was making the same right turn, and then I did have to brake suddenly when it turned right into a driveway a couple seconds later. No turn signal either time, of course—nor, I'm sure, any awareness that I was even there at all.
Good thing all those trips pulling Harvey over the summer made me extra-careful and oh-so-skillful! My sense of righteous indignation dates back much further, of course.