May 17, 2012 – A Day in the Life
My heart skipped when I went to the
place I’d locked my bike and saw…nothing. I’d been at an all-day meeting at the
HHS building, and had looked all around the front for a bike rack. Finding
none, I wheeled over to the fence around the outdoor play area used by the kids
at the building’s daycare center. I carefully looked for a “no bikes allowed” sign
and, seeing none, locked up.
When I discovered my loss at the
end of the day, I hoped that I had violated some unwritten Federal rule and my
ride had been confiscated, not stolen. Sure enough, after a lengthy negotiation
with no fewer than four officials, I was escorted to the basement storage room
where my bike was returned to me. I left behind the vintage 1980s-era kryptonite
lock that had served me so well – now hacked in two along one straight edge of
its steely U. Replacing the lock is small potatoes, compared to the price of my
still-new bike, which I was just happy to get back. But the disturbing part was
the officious lecture I received from the security guard.
When I told him I had looked for a
“no bikes” sign on the fence, he informed me there was a rack along the 3rd
Street side of the building. That part was fine. But – regarding the sign – I
was told, “This is Federal property. We make our own rules. We don’t have to
tell you not to park here.” He seemed to take absurd delight in this pathetic
wield of power. He then launched into a lecture about my bike being a safety
hazard to children using the play area.
I proceeded to the metro, where I
had a much more pleasant encounter. I asked the homeless guy panhandling at the
escalator whether he knew where the elevator entrance was. He politely directed
me and, as I slipped a bill into his plastic cup, he complimented my bike,
asking if it kept me in shape. Clad in shorts and a tank top, I bravely
replied, “You tell me.” He nodded enthusiastically, and a nicely dressed man in
a business suit who overheard our exchange smiled and added, “Oh yes indeed,
I’d say so.” Pushing 60, it makes me feel good to still get a thumbs up on my physique.
But some days you can’t count on
your luck to last. In making “improvements” to the bike route at the East Falls
Church metro, they’ve installed one of the truly annoying curb cuts that are
narrow, with high edges on either side, and must, therefore, be approached
straight on. These are popping up all over Arlington. Does it take a genius to
understand that a broad, wide curb cut is much more user-friendly – for bikes,
wheelchairs, strollers, and suitcases alike?
As I waited to cross Sycamore
Street to get on the bike path, I could see a pedestrian toting a wheeled
suitcase trying to get past me. There is not really sufficient space for
multiple users – especially those with various types of wheels – to negotiate
this much-used sidewalk space. Attempting to straighten out my bike to allow
him more room to pass, my front wheel caught on the high curb and I toppled
straight over onto my side, bike on top of me, wheels spinning uselessly. The
guy with the suitcase looked back at me sprawled on the ground and didn’t so
much as ask, “Are you all right?” For anyone old enough to remember Laugh-In, I felt like the guy in the
weekly skit who used to pedal a tricycle and then, for no reason, just fall off
to the side. I felt like a dope and had little bloody scrapes on both legs. The
tumble also derailed my chain, which I can’t seem to fix without covering my
hands in sticky black grease. At least I was prepared with both water and a
washcloth. Yippee! And the weather was perfect, allowing me to savor the rest
of my short ride home. So, despite my whining, as usual, the bike ride was the
best part of the day.
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