I rode to work today. It’s only five miles and downhill almost all the way, which is a bit intimidating when you start to think about the return trip.
My front brake needed a service and my bike only has one gear, and that combined with the cracked and rutted streets made the descent more nervewracking than perhaps it should have been. I kept looking out for other cyclists to help spot the routes – there’s a bike path down by the water that leads to the bridge out of Fremont, and then there’s a bike path almost all the way to the office. So that was quite easy.
I’m blessed with an office that has made substantial investments for cyclists. There’s a locked room to store bikes in, there’s a huge locker room in the car park with five or six showers, clean towels and places to store clothes and dry them. There’s even a workbench and tools if you need to effect repairs on your bike. So that was all very nice.
In the afternoon, I dropped my bike off to get worked on – by Monday I should have fully working brakes rather than ones where you yank on the lever and hope – and then by the time the family returns, commuting to work by bike should be normal, and I should be able to shift some of the excess weight that my American diet has provided.
But now, to bed.