Written by Boston Biker on Oct 08

As I open my door the pleasant whirrrrrr of an old internal three speed coasting down the hill greets my ears.

Looking left I see an elegantly dressed woman swishing past in the crisp morning air.

As I mount my bike I see my neighbor carrying his bicycle down the front porch stairs of his home.

We exchanged slight head nods, I have never spoken to this person, but because we both ride bikes we make contact.

The sun shines peacefully as I join the tiny tributary of cyclists in Union Square. First one, then two, collect at the red light, then start together, forward.

Three, then four, then many. The tiny tributary becomes a running stream of cyclists heading towards Cambridge.

By the time I reach Hampshire street the cyclists outnumber the cars, heading in groups of ten or more towards downtown. The bike counter already reads over 300.

We move as a large mass towards Boston, moving in groups bunched up by the rhythm of the red lights.

Our swift movement a sharp contrast to the relatively few cars that have none the less managed to clog the streets.

The incline of the Longfellow does its work thinning and spreading out the group of cyclists into a long line. Each cyclist propelling themselves over its gentle hill.

The view from the top the best in town, the Red line rumbles past with its hermetically sealed occupants pressed against the windows.

Boston is such a contrast, the many cyclists much dart and weave around opening doors, parked cars, walking pedestrians. The bicycle lanes are gone.

This morning however the cyclists have carved out their own passage, taking street space, even though none was set aside for them.

The car drivers conceded them their lane, perhaps bowing to their superior numbers. Perhaps in a concession to their superior speed.

Downtown, a heady rush, impotent stuck cars and distracted pedestrians. Car horns and high rises.

Pillars of finance moving busily, money on their minds, do they know that only a bicycle is economical enough to profitably ply these streets?

Then work, with its fluorescent dead air pallor, can never match the glory of the commute.

The pain is tempered knowing that you get to do it all again on the way home!

Tags: bike ride Posted in bostonbiker