A call from the optometrist, to tell me several orders of contact lenses had arrived, was enough of an excuse to leave work an hour early and enjoy what is the first true day of spring–sun, blue skies, and temperatures in the upper 60s. It’s been this warm already this year, but this day has the feel of springtime–the promise of warmth and sunshine, and the Earth shaking off its winter coat. The miles through the suburbs roll by. The traffic patterns are different, the flow of cars a bit heavier than at 5:00PM, and the sound and smell of things are different–stereos heard through open windows, the smell of perfume or perhaps after-shave as I roll by cars stopped at a traffic signal. By the time I reach the 62nd Street Bridge, I’m warm, too warm, and wondering why I’m wearing two pairs of socks. Habit, I suppose, from the winter. I cross the bridge, and a few minutes later, I’m at my front door, picking up the U-lock and removing clothes from my bag. Off to Oakland.
Riding in the city has become an entirely different experience. It’s so, well, easy. The roads are flat. Even the hills are flat, in a sense. You do a climb to get somewhere, and that’s it. On the commute, you do a climb, only to rollercoaster down the other side, quickly faced with another climb and another decent. On a fixed gear this leaves precious little time to relax (though after several years, one learns to “relax” on the downhills, even when spinning madly with an embarrassingly low 42×18 gearing). I bounce along Negley Avenue (will they ever fix the road surface?), racing the 71c between stops. Soon enough, I dart off Centre Avenue and into the residential neighborhood just east and north of Oakland. The sidewalks are full of people running (out for their first of year?) or returning from work. Jackets are slung over shoulders or tucked into bags.
Entering Oakland, on the first warm day of spring, while the universities are in full swing, is a sobering and depressing experience. I like to think of myself as young(ish). Yes, I’m not really, and I have two kids, but I don’t think of myself as being as old as I really am. Perhaps its because I ride a bike most everywhere, or that I wear jeans to work. Perhaps it’s bigger than that–a “mentality”–but either way, such a perception is shattered upon reaching Fifth and Bellefield, where the University of Pittsburgh campus begins. I am old. At least 15 years older than the average student that I pass in a blur. Old.
Traffic shakes me from my stupor and I’m weaving through pedestrians and locking my bike to a railing outside the optometrist’s office. I’m quickly in and out of the office, and heading down toward Forbes Avenue. Once there, I slide over to the right side of the road, riding past the throngs of people waiting for buses. As I pass the law building, I see a gaggle of hipsters, their fixed gears (mostly conversions) leaning against the low marble wall. Too bad I didn’t have alleycat flyers.
Cutting through traffic by the museums, I’m across Craig Street, back on Fifth Avenue, and soon away from the traffic in residential Shadyside. The streets are full (again) of people coming home from work, and runners. I take a circuitous route of backstreets to end up on Highland Avenue, thus avoiding Negley and its terrible road surface. East Liberty, within Penn Circle, is mayhem (as one would expect on such a day), with cars sitting in the middle of intersections, and pedestrians simply crossing the street without so much as looking. I’m through it without incident (and nary a stop), and I’m in Highland Park, happily spinning along. Rolling up to the front door, I figure today’s commute home to be in the neighborhood of 15-18 miles, not a bad way to christen spring.
Posted on 30 March 2006