|Note the harmonious color scheme of black, |
brown, blue, yellow, gray and whatever
It’s Autumn in New England. We’re enjoying the kind of weather that separates the people who bike in this kind of weather from the sane ones, and I’m proud to say I’m neither. That is to say, I bike, but I do it ironically.
It was a brisk 23 degrees when I left my house this morning. That’s Fahrenheit. Of course, 23 degrees Centigrade is quite warm, which is why biking is so much more popular in Europe.
I was wearing long underwear, corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, a down parka, one of those ridiculous head condoms that I’m convinced were designed only so that others could take pictures of you, a knit neck warmer, a knit hat, a bike helmet, and ski gloves. I had to take most of it off to get on the bike.
All down the bike path, this sleek, high-tech winter gear allowed me to pedal fast enough to keep up with the people walking.
Arriving at the subway station, I began the ritual of peeling off the layers. The trick here is knowing when to stop. On one hand, I tend to get overheated from the bike ride, regardless of the weather. On the other hand, there are surveillance cameras and security guards.
At least my commute home will be in the dark.