How did my legs become gelatinous masses? By biking.
That's right, ladies and gents. Your resident hairy bespeckled ape of a writer has taken up biking.
Why would I do such a thing? A couple of reasons:
- Gas prices are ridiculous in the city.
- Biking - even at the incredibly slow rate of a slightly overweight hairy bespeckled ape - is quicker than both mass transit AND driving.
- Evidently I desperately need the exercise.
My buddy Pat, who rides in to work and has for a couple years now, forwarned me about The Hill. It's a stretch of Halsted in between a bridge over the Chicago river and a bridge over a giant set of traintracks right before Chicago Ave. I've never appreciated flat stretches, never praised the engineering greats who first decided to make streets level, never cursed bridges and inclines as much as I did cursing and peddling my way up the street.
Anyone strolling along the sidewalk this morning would have seen this grown man, beard and glasses spilling out of a helmet, mistaken me for an escaped lunatic with tourettes and a penchant for self-mutilation.
Actually, that might not be so mistaken a judgement come to think of it.