The Bike Ride
An excerpt from my journal dated September 9, 2010:
I put my gym shoes on, filled my backpack, and pumped up the tires on my bike. Bye Dad. I jumped on my bike, headed down Kilbourn, through the underpass, down Granville. How far was I going to go? How far did I want to go? Men walking down the streets with large top hats, long beards with squiggly sideburns, and tassels hanging from their belt loops. Boys with circular caps atop their heads running around playing. The women and girls seemed very reserved wearing long jean skirts and sleeved shirts. It must be some sort of Jewish ceremony. They all seemed very happy, smiles on their faces. I peddle further toward Lincoln. I cut through the alleyway behind the Chinese restaurant. Smells of Kung Pao Beef and Orange Chicken. I love Chinese food. I ride with traffic on Lincoln back to Granville. This street is very bumpy, bad for my bike. A mixed group of darker skinned people around here. Indian, Pakistani, Muslim, and Mexican. Coming up to California I see only a woman’s eyes driving a car. She is wearing a burqa. A Mexican woman at a corner stand selling the orange pinwheel snacks that taste like styrofoam. Hot sauce and chihuahua cheese make it better. Stopped at Western. Three Muslim men in a cab. Probably all friends hanging out, no fares at this time of day. Picking up speed. Where should I go? Albion Beach past Loyola. Down Broadway, all of the college kids walking to and from class. No real care in the world. Happy to be there. Happy to be young. Girl and boy hand in hand talking about anything. Just happy to be talking to each other. Albion, take a right. Why is it so refreshing to be here? The water, the sand? The lack of people on such a cold September day. I am alone, jobless, unknowing. Where do I go from here? Ride back? Back to where I came from?