A cyclist visiting the campus of Southern Vermont College chose to park his or her bike in the middle of a lovely stone and brick courtyard. Tony Jancek captured the view (right-click on the photo to open an enlargement):

Was the cyclist aware how beautiful a photo this would make? We’ll probably never know, but where he chose to park sure does exhibit a sense of style, wouldn’t you say?

We love our bikes, right? And we never tire of looking at them. At least I don’t, and if I’m to judge from what others tell me, I’m not alone. So each Sunday I’ll publish a bike-related picture. Most of the time it will be a photo, but don’t be surprised if a few drawings and paintings get added to the mix from time to time. I might even include a sculpture or two. (OK. A photo of a sculpture.) Anything, in short, that evokes the world on two wheels. And don’t be shy. If you have a picture you’d like to share, just email it to me. I’ll do the rest.

 
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Folks who say you can’t love inanimate objects are dead wrong. I’ve loved all seven of my bikes, beginning with my very first, a bright red Hawthorne that I received as a Christmas present when I was just four years old. That Hawthorne gave me my first taste of independence. When I pulled away from my father’s guiding hands and flew down the sidewalk with streamers flying from the white handlebar grips, I knew I was free. At last. The wind in my hair was a bonus.

I’m much older now, but I recapture this heady compound of unconstrained joy and unfettered autonomy whenever I plant my butt on the saddle. And then there’s the wonderful deliverance from the tyranny of gravity that comes every time I settle my feet on the pedals and roll away. Don’t get me wrong, though. Not all bikes are equal in my affections. No way! My Surly Long Haul Trucker is a bike like no other I’ve owned, more like a part of my body than a machine.

What explains this happy bondage? Well, fit is one reason. Petra—from Blue Peter, the flag flown by mariners to signal an imminent departure from port—fits me like a bespoke side-by-side, perfect in every dimension. And like a fine double gun, Petra is always on target. She doesn’t fight me when I want to carve a turn or make a fast descent in a gusty crosswind, even with a forty-pound load in her panniers, nor does her long-wheelbase steel frame flex unduly when I stand on the pedals to power up a steep grade. She also negotiates gravel roads with as much aplomb as any bike can, and she’s surprisingly fleet on the flats, even when kitted out with fenders, rack, and bar bag. She’s no racer, to be sure, but then I’m no racer either. And her 20-inch granny gear keeps me in the saddle and moving forward long after most of the local roadies have given up and turned back.

So ours is a very special relationship, Petra’s and mine. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And, yes, it is all about the bike.

 
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A long hike brings many pleasures, but it also makes for hot, sore feet. That’s no problem when the trail ends at a free-flowing river, however. Just take a break for a snack and a rest. Peel off your heavy boots and sweaty socks, then dunk your feet in the cool, cool water. There’s no better remedy for tired feet.

 
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