How You Get Around

By Casey O’Malley

My bike commute was born as a prayer. A rattley, squeaky prayer, punctuated with potholes, angry cab drivers, and flat tires. One that sang through the frame of a twenty-year-old mountain bike transplanted to the city. A prayer that took unexpected left turns to avoid the traffic sneaking up Fifth Avenue, one that surprised with a bold swoop through the traffic circle. It was an invocation to escape from the mechanized, scheduled world and to soar, unfettered, on the noisy streets. It was prayer to get out, without actually leaving. It worked. Continue reading

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