Day 2: I walked to Fairhaven three times. Thank God I live in this neighborhood.
Day 3: Some observations:
1. There aren't enough public drinking fountains in Bellingham. The one at the public library is pretty good, though.
2. My parents live on Alabama Hill. Shit. Oh well, see you in September, Mom & Dad!
3. There is a pothole near 12th and Harris which, if you hit it, will flatten both your tires and break all of your labia.
4. N. Samish Way (IHOP, Boomer's, that one weird Chinese restaurant no one eats at) needs a) fewer assholes; b) a thorough resurfacing; and c) bike lanes, goddammit.
5. Come to think of it, bike lanes are needed in Bellingham in a shitload of places, most of which I risked my life on today: Iowa St., Alabama St., Harris Ave., 34th or 32nd or whatever one it is that gets you from REI to the liquor store.
As always,
screw you BP
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
BP, The Bike, The Biker, and The Blog
Day One of my car-free summer involved me sleeping in until 10 to avoid the inevitable: go nowhere, go by bike, or walk. When the rain petered out and the sky turned a less ominous shade of gray, I prepared for my first outing, which really wasn't any different than any other bike trip I've taken lately, except for the fact that if I forgot anything on my circle through town, the return trip could not involve a 2001 Toyota Tacoma.
This required some advance planning, most of which made me realize that I live ridiculously close to all of the so-called essentials: the bank, the post office, the video store, the bookstore, the library, and the grocery store are all within walking distance, and the liquor store is a little father away, but still a do-able walk. Art supplies, which are always on the list, are a little harder to walk to. But the fact that I had to ride my bike to get them, as opposed to driving, required me to build a plan around a bike-to-able store. Biking to Jo-Ann at Sunset Square, or Michaels on the Guide, are out of the question, as I am trying to avoid death, so I ended up at Dakota Art downtown: easy-to-get-to and local. My only complaint: the city-provided bike rack outside doesn't accomodate U-locks.
This craziness (the car-free summer) was inspired by a series of events: 1) the ever-widening expanse of my ass; 2) the fact I "need" things that I can live without or get to without driving and yet, like a spoiled idiot, I continue to drive to get them; 3) the fact that practically everything I own is made out of petroleum and there's no getting around that and yet I'm still really pissed at BP's horrific leadership, abyssmal management, and devastating impact on animals and the environment. Also, for me, life is defined by summer: the summer I learned how to surf; the summer I nannied; the summer I _____. You know what I mean. This summer, for me, needed a "the summer I____." So I picked car-free, damnit. By the end of the season, my ass is going to hurt like hell. But at least it will be smaller.
This required some advance planning, most of which made me realize that I live ridiculously close to all of the so-called essentials: the bank, the post office, the video store, the bookstore, the library, and the grocery store are all within walking distance, and the liquor store is a little father away, but still a do-able walk. Art supplies, which are always on the list, are a little harder to walk to. But the fact that I had to ride my bike to get them, as opposed to driving, required me to build a plan around a bike-to-able store. Biking to Jo-Ann at Sunset Square, or Michaels on the Guide, are out of the question, as I am trying to avoid death, so I ended up at Dakota Art downtown: easy-to-get-to and local. My only complaint: the city-provided bike rack outside doesn't accomodate U-locks.
This craziness (the car-free summer) was inspired by a series of events: 1) the ever-widening expanse of my ass; 2) the fact I "need" things that I can live without or get to without driving and yet, like a spoiled idiot, I continue to drive to get them; 3) the fact that practically everything I own is made out of petroleum and there's no getting around that and yet I'm still really pissed at BP's horrific leadership, abyssmal management, and devastating impact on animals and the environment. Also, for me, life is defined by summer: the summer I learned how to surf; the summer I nannied; the summer I _____. You know what I mean. This summer, for me, needed a "the summer I____." So I picked car-free, damnit. By the end of the season, my ass is going to hurt like hell. But at least it will be smaller.
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