Another School Shooting, This Time Close to Home

I realize school shootings are now the first thing that come to mind. Yesterday morning, not long after 9 o’clock, we were driving south on I-465, which rings Indianapolis. Suddenly, coming our way across the median barrier, were five police units, traveling at an exceptionally high rate of speed, even for police, with sirens blaring and lights flashing. Within seconds, another three police cars sped by at incredible speeds. My reaction was immediate, Vera: I mentioned to your grandmother that I can’t image anything that would elicit such a response other than a school shooting. I didn’t think much more about it, until later yesterday afternoon when I turned on the car radio as we finally reached Pennsylvania. Continue reading

Why I Ride

One of my most prized possession is my R2 Scott Addict.

Basketball legend Bill Walton rides a bike, too. Here is what Mr. Walton wrote in his memoir:

My bike is the most important thing I have. It is my gym, my wheelchair and my church all in one.

I get it.

When interviewed for a Wall Street Journal story (Bill Walton’s All About the Bike), Walton added:

I’m more comfortable on my bike than anything else I do. The longer I ride, the better I feel.

My bike is my medicine. I’m always sick of something or somebody, and I know that when I go out on my bike, my bike makes me happy.

I get it.

Walton conceded he’s not a good cyclist. Neither am I. You don’t have to be. Your bike can still make you happy.

We live in flat Indiana now. The cycling here is easier and less interesting than Colorado (where I lived previously), but it’s still good. The pedals and wheels work the same.

Vera, I’ve taken two bike trips with your dad: one to southern Utah, the other to New Mexico. I recall an 83-mile ride near Taos. They call it the Enchanted Circle. It includes two 9,000+ feet mountain tops. But it was the headwind that day that could have done us in (our group of six riders). Your dad saved us. He took the lead. We drafted behind him for miles and miles. Your dad is a strong rider. And fearless. My memories of our cycling trips together are special (including the time he and the Washington, D.C. detective mounted the elk sculpture in Taos, but that’s a story for another day).

Quite a few motorists don’t like cyclists. And many people are just generally angry these days, especially white men who drive trucks (based solely on my personal cycling experience). Many drivers are distracted, too — talking or texting on their device while driving. I wish it were safer riding the roads — that people would pay closer attention to what they’re doing when they’re behind the wheel — but I don’t worry about it. The alternative is not to ride, and that’s unacceptable.

Mr. Walton said, “[W]hen I go out on my bike, my bike makes me happy.” Me, too.

And so I ride.