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Chicago
is
flat.
Yesterday
was
too
hot.
Today was just right.
Spent
most
of
it
inside
filling
in
little rectangles. Rectangles within rectangles. New
opportunities and deadlines. Felt good to
finally get outside on a
borrowed bike. Every east-west increment of 800 equals one mile. I
pedaled on a too-small 10-speed with no padding on the seat from 1600
to 5600,
an
even
five. The sun was blazing but humidity was a relatively
low 50%. 80 degrees at 4:30. Most people here don't wear helmets and it
was too hot to be an exception. One surmises there is no helmet law,
but
it wasn't long before a fellow cyclist rolled up beside me as I waited
for cross-traffic to pass. "Scofflaw?" she asked, indicating my lack of
helmet. The difference between this encounter and one in Seattle is she
wasn't wearing one either. "I didn't think it was a law," I said.
"I rode right by two bike cops and they ignored me." She wasn't sure;
had just assumed it was. We rode along together and
chatted all the while until our paths diverged. I've had more
conversations with random strangers in two days here than I have all
year in
Seattle. Why is that? Sarah and I were to housesit Dan and
Lori's
pets--Hub (cat), Merritt (dog), Franny (cat). I introduced myself to
their neighbor Mikey, who asked if they'd left me enough to eat. He
was grilling every day, feeding two insatiable boys, 10 and 13. Cicadas
whirred as the sun slipped low. I kicked back on the front porch
reading The Grapes
of
Wrath:
"How
can
we
live
without
our
lives? How will we know it is
us without our past?"
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