There are days on the bike when things converge into a single point of perfect motion — legs pumping like pistons, cranks spinning effortlessly, the current of traffic seemingly standing still as I pick and weave my way through it. There are, of course, also days when these feelings are fleeting, and lines are skewed.

Those days start with heavy traffic on Smithfield Street just outside the office. A car parked (illegally) surprises the unaware driver, and two lanes are blocked with no chance for escape. I snap out of the trackstand to just barely slither through the green light, only to snap back to a stop at Third Avenue. The signal changes, and the scene is repeated at Fourth Avenue, thanks to wandering pedestrians. There will be no rhythm found today.

Finally out of town and in the Strip District, I’m given the chance to stretch my legs and find a cadence. The moment is short-lived, as a truck turned left leaves no room next to the curb. I wait. I find the rhythm again as Smallman expands at the docks. As the road bottlenecks at 21st, I stake my claim to the center of the lane, and traffic fumes behind me — I won’t fight through the maze of potholes that litter my usual passage a few feet from the curb. Cars are piled up at the stop sign at 28th, and I slow down, looking for a slot to escape. A hippie in a Jetta is, literally, riding on the curb. I hop up to the sidewalk, giving him a brief sideways glance, and slip back into the street, and in a moment, I’m beyond the traffic. The cars thin in Lawrenceville, and soon I’m through 64th Street and spinning home.

Posted on 1 April 2005