(and After)

After three days of buying the wrong tools and then the right tools and finding time to assemble my bike before and after work it's finally ready. In an attempt to fit in I bought a fixie. It's a hipstery cream color with dark mint wheels and white accessories. I lug the bike down two flights of stairs and push it through the front door of our apartment building. It's heavier than I want it to be.

On the flat along the ocean I check the brake again. It doesn't work very well. I squeeze it all the way and feel myself barely slowing. Dragging my foot along the ground seems like a much more efficient means of stopping so I consider taking my bike back to my apartment. But if I go back I'll surely be late for work.

At the park I turn uphill and ride past the polo stadium and people walking their dogs. The grade is gentle enough for me to climb with my single gear but steep enough that I'm exhausted, red-faced, and sweaty when I arrive to work. I should have gotten a real bike.

A few hours later I'm faced with the thought of riding back downhill with no working brake. I adjusted my bike to freewheel so I could coast; there would be no stopping with the pedals. Having some spare time, I walk my bike toward the park, then out of frustration start riding the brief uphill. I stay on for some mellow descending, using my right shoe against the pavement as a brake. My back heats the leftover pastries in my bag even though I'm moving barely faster than a walking pace.

Between the timid half-riding and walking down the steepest hills, I arrive at the Outer Sunset avenues and exit the park. From here it's all flat but I stay a few streets up from the beach for a better view. Riding through the alphabet, past Irving, Judah, and Kirkham, I note the way the smell of pizza penetrates the wet beach air.

Finally at Taraval I turn to the ocean. The three businesses easily accessible to us have burned to an unrecognizable state. I guess today was a doozy. But none of this makes me unhappy: I live on the Pacific Ocean and ride my hipster bike to a job that I enjoy. San Franciscans are welcoming and encourage sincerity. There are few social rules here to limit self-expression. You can make mistakes and learn in a relatively judgement-free environment. I don't know if I'll live here for just a year or for five, but I can already tell it will be hard to leave.