the bike as art

Form and function as art

Form and function as art

I don't know if I would commute on this bike, or frame it...

I don’t know if I would commute on this bike, or frame it…

Also posted on 2wheels2kids.wordpress.com


sunrise – cycling

At 6:00 am, the train station is desolate. The streets to the train station are empty and the air is cool. We were soon to be off on the train to downtown Chicago and from there ride our bicycles up along the lake and paths the 120 miles to Milwaukee.

Naperville-station, as isolated as if the zombie apocalypse was upon us

Naperville-station, as isolated as if the zombie apocalypse was upon us

Dawn rises along the tracks and soon enough the ride begins.

sunrise along the tracks

sunrise along the tracks

Every ride is full of wonders, like the scent of chocolate baking along the streets of downtown, or the sea of spandex when our path merged with a woman’s 1/2 marathon. It’s a chance to find mom/pop restaurants like the Mexican place in Evanston where you can get corn meal pancakes and the restaurant is so small that you have to walk through the tiny kitchen and ask the dishwasher move to get into the tiny restroom.

corn meal pancakes - like a corn muffin you can put syrup on - what's not to like ?

corn meal pancakes – like a corn muffin you can put syrup on – what’s not to like ?

Hope you ride your bike to new places and find adventures of your own.


the trail

Once having strolled the cancer trail, Read the rest of this entry »


the next day

The sun was brilliant, and yet the air was still crisp and cold enough to show my breath as I pedaled slowly along the asphalt path.   In your face, the wind chills and bites.  Not harshly enough, and I laugh and shiver until I turn and the warm sun on my back teases of warmer days yet to come.

The pond I circle is frozen and the geese walk atop the ice, and bask in the warmth.  How is that possible I wonder, but the world is full of wonders.  Perhaps each day is one.

How do we spend our days, I ponder?  Each day is twenty-four hours  for every man,  fourteen hundred forty minutes, or eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds so egalitarianly provided to all.

Once through this, how will I spend mine, this precious coin that runs through my fingers, tic, tic, tic  never to be found or sold again.  I don’t really know, just yet.  But I think things are going to change.