In which there’s a map, and a bangle of sorts!
Google Maps never really does well with the Greenway, but this is, more or less, my path for the day.
(I still can’t tell, honestly, if I’m charmed by the knowledge that my Android phone tells Google Maps everywhere I go, or freaked out.)
In the early afternoon, I stopped on the corner for a jar of delicious iced coffee and a salad to go, and then I rode to the lake, sat my fat ass in the grass behind my bike, ate, and then I rode home again.
It occurred to me that going to the park specifically to eat was an excellent fat-girl behavior! Hi, I’m fat and I’m the only person in sight who is eating! I just ate and took off. Didn’t even walk out on the floating dock I love so much. Oink!
Fucked around at the apartment for a couple hours, but wanted to go ride some more. So in the late afternoon I rode the Greenway in the other direction, east, and bought dinner from the Midtown Global Market — a cheeseburger for him, falafel for me — so not only did I spend a bunch of money today for no reason (there are plenty of groceries in the kitchen) but I rode 5 miles!
Now, the ride to the Midtown Global Market is a fuckin’ breeze, and you’re, like, Oh, yeah, I got this, my quads are in better shape than I thought, far the fuck out. But the ride home? Is ever-so-slightly all uphill and OMG IT half KILLED me.
But still, I rode five miles today, voluntarily and on purpose, for fun, by which miracle I conclude that this RoadID bracelet, which arrived in the mail today, is magic.
Five miles isn’t far, of course, but it’s a lot more than no miles!
Anyway, it’s basically dog tags for your wrist:
Apparently, if you get knocked off your bike in a car accident, your shit usually ends up many feet away from your person, and often isn’t found until after you’re off in an ambulance. So I figured, since this is a super high-traffic neighborhood, everybody here drives like they have PMS, and I’m usually alone when I’m out walking or riding, some wearable ID would be a good idea.
Name, age, location, emergency contact, medical information: apparently these details are fantastically useful to EMTs when an injured person is unconscious.
Now, I guess if you’re sporty, you put some kind of motivational motto on the bottom line, like SHUT UP LEGS or some shit, but I’m not so I put a mantra. And the badge thingy on the left is a custom ‘OM’ symbol. Custom! OM!
I briefly considered the ‘BIKE’ badge, because I ride a bike and have done for the past decade, but I’m hardly a real cyclist, like those skinny nerds with all their clothes and gear, so I figure it would have been weird. I’m riding along in Thai fisherman’s pants and a Hanes cotton t-shirt, right? I’d probably be publicly shamed for appropriating jock culture or some shit, amirite? YOU’RE NOT WEARING WICKING LYCRA, YOU HIPPIE, YOU CAN’T HAVE THE ‘BIKE’ BADGE UNTIL YOU DO A TRIATHLON. IN NEON LYCRA!
To conclude: I am older than I’ve ever been and in tremendously bad shape, but it felt so great to look at things that are green and flowering and to smell the spring breeze and to move and to ride along the lovely Midtown Greenway!
Such a gorgeous day! Yay!