Framing small conversations


It merits another airing: the great good of riding a bicycle in the city is the unroofedness of it all, the way, from a saddle, you can share a few words, a laugh or a smile with people, strangers or not, who, too, are moving at the speed of life, but not faster.

Today's ride home was more proof. As if we needed more proof.

Here's Max on the 102 Ave sidewalk pointing me to Shelagh, waiting a couple of blocks west at the crossroads in Railtown.























Here's Shelagh, off her bike, talking to Professor Legris about Auden.



Ring, ring. The bell from behind means a fellow Oliverbahn commuter is coming by. As she does, she smiles a thanks.



A few blocks up the Oliverbahn, Shelagh points to a tree illuminated by the autumn sun.



Hello, Troy!



Hello, woman whose name we don't know, but is very friendly.



On Ravine Drive, a woman whose red hair appears to be on fire says hello to us at the same time we say hello to her.



At IGA, I wheel my bike in to pick up some snacks for tonight's baseball game and get into the who-moves-first game with a woman who, we decide, goes in first because she has great shoes.



Add it up. Most people you come across in the city are either strangers or people you don't know well. The open frame of a bicycle is an invitation to not play strange.

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