It's in the 40s today, which means that the cyclists are out in full force. I saw my morning older-bearded-dude-on-road-bike-with-bright-yellow-wind-jacket and the girl-on-hybrid-who-always-looks-really-really-happy-to-be-coasting-down-the-hill-I'm-trying-to-struggle-up. Those are the only cyclists I usually see. Older-bearded-dude usually does either the slight hand raise or nod of what I like to imagine is a seasoned cyclist salute of mutual respect for commuting through the winter. The girl just ignores me in her happiness.
Using the warmer weather as an excuse, I flew out of school after class to drop by therapy IBC [yes, I am quickly becoming the persistent, eternal customer that just stops by to "hang out," i.e. annoy the too-nice employees into listening to my banter when they have real customers to actually pay attention to who probably have more money than me]. I ended up pedaling from Brighton to Allston behind two kids on fixed gears, and was actually able to keep up! And by "keep up" I mean I wasn't trying to act cool with one hand off the bars while my nostrils flared in my attempts to suck in enough air to keep me from passing out. Like, I was really able to keep up.
On my way home under a rose tinted sky, I saw at least four other cyclists - roadies, hybrids, and last but not least, a black cruiser with full fenders and a pretty wicker basket in the front, full of groceries. It was pretty enough to make me sort of want one - despite my slight aversion to step-through frames.
The image sort of slowly died this sad, cringe-inducing death as I watched [and eventually flew past] the woman on said cruiser attempt to crest a slight incline in heels with no helmet.
Maybe I'll file that cruiser for when I move to a European city.