I left Chelsea Ave and turned onto Elwood on the cycle this morning, and came upon one of those digital miles per hour readers perched on the side of Elwood.
It said 10 miles per hour as I approached, then 11 and 12.
Not quite ready to surrender my competitive streak, I pedaled harder. 13, 14.
I wanted 15 miles an hour the way Little G wants dessert. I pushed, my lungs burning, my khakis threatening to tear.
The neon screen flickered at 14, but would not go up. I slowed up and cruised the rest of the way to the station.
It’s not my fault, it’s Mother Nature’s–I hadn’t been on my damn bike in close to a week after all this rain.