Getting to 50 . . . and Beyond

This is cheating, but I can't think of a better way of summing up what my folding bike means to me than what I said in my Christmas letter in December:

"On my 50th birthday [in September], I bought a bicycle. I haven’t owned one since my Schwinn banana seat. A bike has been on my mind for a long time (D. and I ride every summer on Cape Cod, where I’ve rented mine), but it’s taken me a while to admit it’s okay for me to have one. (Don’t ask—it’s like the contortions I went through before I gave myself permission to move from the Maryland suburbs to DC 16 years ago.) This bike has changed my life. It’s a folding model, perfect for my tiny “urban cottage” (D.’s second home, mine being his lovely house in, guess where, the Maryland suburbs). I had no intention of using it to commute, but within a month I was riding to work, mostly on bike lanes, weather and other factors permitting. You’d recognize me—I’m the one who obeys traffic signals. The obvious feeling is freedom, but it’s not the main part. For years I’ve had dreams I’m on a bike, but the sensation is the accomplishment of getting somewhere on my own power. I wake up feeling, Wasn’t it cool how I got there?"