July 14, 0700 hours, 61 degrees.
I put a sweater on. I sat downtown to wait for my bus, closed my eyes, and took it all in.
Buses rumble bumble down Marquette in between buildings with names of corporation-people past and present, whooshing warm wind after they’ve passed. Air brakes pump, kneeling bus ramps hiss, twin rear tires knock on and clatter over manhole covers. Accelerating buses whine, decelerating buses sigh. Drivers move from queue to crawl to queue to crawl, sweeping toward curbs before dipping back into the lane. Articulated accordion bus, suburban line, natural gas-powered, limited stop, express.
Inside, wi-fi, vinyl seats, fare reader squeaks at cards and gobbles change while the transfer printer reels, bike rack full, bike rack empty, “Stop Requested.” Toot-toot to make another bus wait, honk-honk to warn a car, beep-beep to say hello to another driver.
The sky was clear and the winds were high when I started last leg of my journey and the slowest part of my day- my 1.5 mile walk through Rice Creek Park on the way to my office. By far my favorite part of my commute, I will let the photos (mostly) speak for themselves.
A wee lil’ froggie
Three turkey hens crossed my path
Deer highway to the local watering hole
Total travel time: 1 hour, 36 minutes.
This piece was originally published on GreaseRag.org, where I regularly write and organize Grease Rag events. Grease Rag’s mission is to encourage and empower women/ trans*/ femme (WTF) cyclists in a collaborative and fun learning environment through rides, discussions, shop nights and educational seminars in a safer space.