I have only an hour or so before I drag my crap to the train station and hop on to a Basel bound train, switch trains to Basel bad something dorf, which lies just over the Grenze, in Deutschland.
God, I wish I could somehow put into words how simply hopping on a bike mellows me out, and the all-encompassing Novelty in my visual field so dazzles that it’s all I can do to just keep pedaling, and try not to drop into tram tracks.
the smells and sounds
it is like my heart is going to shatter
it feels like being in love with the world
but it probably is something more like a blend of panic, elation and relief to simply be turning the pedals and to be so good at it that I don ‘t even have to waste a second thinking ” I am gonna crash any second….” or “where am I?”.
It is a running conversation that I can never really remember (though the term Whimcycle came to me yest as I rolled across the Aare river on the way out of Bern and pointed into the morning sun)
“Note to self: google it, see if it is a cliche yet….”
Yesterday I saw a flickr photo of a woman perched on the bike, lllllooooonnnnng arms soft on the bars, competent and tres confident.
She is a native speaker (probalby learned very young). I learned late enough to have a great appreciation for the casual competence of a person who rode from infancy.
Me, I feel a bit like it is a second language, even though I äm fluent…