I’m beginning to find that friendly places also tend to be bike-friendly places. Madison, Wisconsin and Springfield, Missouri both rise to the top of my list. But yesterday morning’s commute has earned our current hometown a gold star.
First take into consideration all the kids waiting for the school bus who waved as I went by. When I was in grade school I would’ve been more likely to pitch a rock at a 34-year-old guy on a bike than greet him with a hand-gesture that wasn’t the finger.
On down the road, long lines of traffic offered plenty of space for me, my bike and my bulging bag packed with a just-in-case collection of tools, a change of clothes and lunch.
While they say good things come in threes, the last detail of my ride left me speechless. Sitting at a red light, I heard a car slowly pull up behind me. Green light and we’re off. As I was moving over to the right and the car began to pass, I noticed the passenger window going down. I braced myself for cursing or maybe a plastic bottle pitched my direction.
“Good morning,” said the driver, as she shifted into second gear.
By the time I’d processed the situation she was gone. “Good morning to you, too,” I thought, as she disappeared into the distance.