Transatlantic Translation

Last month, (Was it really just last month? It seems like a season ago.) I had a vacation in Europe, beginning with Amsterdam. It was wonderful, all of it, but especially Amsterdam.

Hadn't been there in 20 years, back when the stamps were beautiful and the city was grittier. Now the opposite is true. But the bicycles! The bicycle paths! The traffic patterns! I could wax on and on. Sitting here writing this listening to a Chopin waltz reminds me of the fluidity of cycling in Amsterdam: romantic, precise, a joy. See, I am waxing on....

I felt like I was seeing the city at the perfect angle, speed, height to take in a small antique/modern city that is comfortable like a living room, but filled with busyness and purpose and BICYCLES! The proximity of people in cafés to the street is narrow, but you get a better seat close to the action of people walking their dogs, their children or better yet riding them around in baskets or carts designed for (what else) bicycle transport.

So I returned home (after some more of Europe: Belgium and a bit of France, tbd later) converted, nigh religious fervor and thought, well NYC has bike paths, but with the contentiousness, adolescent arrogance of cyclists being beyond rules, potholes and rogue cars that would rather ignore 2 wheels vs their four. NY is in medieval times for the bicycle renaissance, but I believe, so I will ride. Not that I hadn't, since before high school, but now it is a different conviction. A desire to navigate the city in middle age with wheels to be beyond the pedestrian when I can. Baby boomer logic of fighting age? Perhaps, but that would be a useless discussion, why bother. Just let me pedal and life will take care of itself.

My next post is how I am making the bicycle conversion.