Just another day commuting to work

All I wanted in the months leading up to my move to DC for the Washington Journalism Center was to ride my bike next to the capitol, along the National Mall and just be me.

I started riding my bike to my internship at the Georgetowner after two days of riding the bus. In short I hated the bus and really couldn't ride it two hours a day anymore. Taking Foldy (my affection name for my folding bike) to work was like a dream come true.

The terrain can be a little rough between 8th street NE and Georgetown at times and there are tons of intersections to cross, but I found joy in it and riding to my internship became a peaceful time to think and mull over all that I am learning from living here in DC.

Today my happy little time with Foldy turned into total madness and frustration. I noticed on my way to Georgetown that my right pedal was not moving smoothly. I stopped to look at it to realize that it was loose. I made it safe and sound to Georgetown though and left Foldy at his normal bike rack at Dean and Deluca, next door to where I work.

I texted my little brother, my amazing bike mechanic who's always there when I need him, and asked what I had to do to fix Foldy. He wrote me back talking about using a 15mm wrench to fix it. Being the little blonde that I am of course my first thought was, "what's a 15mm wrench?" Whatever it is I know I don't have one here with me in DC so that option was out. The only option I had was to hope that Foldy would make it back to my apartment after work.

I, however, was not so lucky. I made it maybe a mile from Georgetown before the pedal came off completely. I found a grassy knoll and tried with all my might to fix it thinking, "this can't be happening. I still have four and a half miles back to my apartment."

It was happening though. The threads on the crank arm were stripped. There was no fixing it even with a 15mm wrench, whatever that is. I was at the Lincoln Memorial and suddenly that beautfiul landscape of the National Mall that I had so looked forward to for months seemed like the longest stretch of endless walking.

I set my sights on the Smithsonian Metro stop which is about in the middle of the Mall and started walking. A man in an "I love (heart) DC "shirt sitting on a bench said, "Hey lady, what happened did your bike break?" I istantanely turned and glared at him. I did not mean it at all I was just stressed. He said, "Hey sorry lady that stinks." All I could think was, yep!

I came to a crosswalk and waited what felt like forever. A man in worn clothes with what looked like his whole life on the rack on the back of his bike said, "Hey let me see what happened to your bike. I bet I could fix it."

I was touched everyone else I had passed had kind of made fun of me and my bad fortune, but here was this guy who wanted to fix my bike on a curb while we waited for a walk sign. I explained how the threads were stripped and he looked at me with sympethetic eyes. "Sorry to hear that. Good luck," he said.

I kept walking. How was the Mall suddenly so long. It felt like there was no end in sight, until finally I spotted the Smithsonian Metro stop. I got questioned by a few more people before I made it but the fact is I made it.

Foldy had never been on an escalator. I was worried I was going to drop him, but both of us made it down safely. Everyone looked at me funny, trying to get on the Metro with a bike during rush hour. I made it on though and people were pretty sympethetic to my situation.

I had to transfer though at Metro Center from the green/yellow line to the red line to make it home. Metro Center is crazy busy at five o'clock. I had a hard time getting on and watched a few trains pass by. Finally I remembered that Foldy...well folds. So I folded him up and it became alot easier to get on. I still got the many questions about what happened, but at this point I had decided to take it in stride and not glare at anyone.

Union Station never looked so good. I was so close to home. As I passedan  Exxon a man who sits there and greets people said, "Hey I've got a bike just like that only it's not a Schwinn." My first instinct was to say lucky, but I just smiled. "What happened to him?" he asked. This was the first time I had ever heard anyone, aside from myself, refer to a bike in the masculine versus the neuter. I told him what happened and he told me he was sorry for me. "Stay safe," he hollered.

I smiled. So many people tried to help me that day. I realized how amazing and crucial a sympethetic and caring disposition are to a community.

Comments

[Sari H.]

I've really enjoyed your bike posts, Rebekah! Good luck fixing Foldy and enjoy D.C. :)

Sari
Spring 2010