Urban Assault

Left out of the driveway, it’s a dip and then a straight shot to the light. I goose it. Idling at the light, the bike is rough and angry; it is not a morning bike. Green and the turn is generous; I push the bike over in a pleasurable sweeper. Time to run the stoplight gauntlet: Just over a mile, 5 lights with commuters, indigents, garbage, oil slicks and bus exhaust in between. I am immersed in city.

I turn right onto a one-way, four lane urban racetrack gated by a stoplight. The light seems interminable, and accruing demand awaits its switch. Green. GO! I jump past the cagers and hurdle into the lead. I look to the sides of the street for the swinging car door aiming to end my commute earlier than I’d prefer. If I time it right, I only get one more light before turning left into 300 yards of gridlock before my right into the parking deck.

I try and coast down all five levels because every now and then the throttled termignonis set off car alarms.