Your bike chain breaks.
The rains pour down.
But still you soldier forward into the crosswalk and down the sidewalk. Because inside your wallet is a coffee shop punchcard with 16 holes, the magic number, the promised land, and you’re power-walking toward the place wiping raindrops from your brow.
You step inside and reveal the punchcard with an irreplaceable smile. You hand it over, and within minutes you’re sipping a free mocha milkshake.
It’s the little things.
Since surrendering my second car of 2016 (and of my life), I’ve taken time to think over next options, biking and walking places while researching loans and vehicles, even test-driving my first sets of wheels for the first time in three decades.
It’s all too adulty. I don’t quite like it.
Am I really considering shackling myself to a loan for the next 2-3 years of my life? What’s the alternative? Regular trips to the bike shop and a shapely pair of calves?
Maybe the decision is easier than I think.
Something about connecting with a city by biking and walking really resonates. I appreciated this experience in cities all over the continent as a tourist, and there is indeed something special about transferring this feeling to my residential status. But only for a little while.
Because the thought of going without Big Kid Wheels and the ability to escape a place for months at a time unnerves me. Like a cockatiel trapped in a cage. Eyeing the outside. Eager to fly. But stuck stocking birdseed for the next half-year.
I could go either way at this point: the loan-shackled wanderer or the caged cockatiel. I’m hoping more clarity comes with the winter rains.
I could also tell you the types of cars I’m considering, the logical ones and the less logical, but I really don’t want you to tell me to be logical.
And so I’ll continue my research from within the cage. Pocketing birdseed. Fantasizing of horizons where mountain meets cloud. Hoping for freedom and the chance to fly again before this cage drives me mad.