Dear J—

The words are a prayer, of sorts: hup-one-and-two; a chant to pass the miles and count the beats as we head south, or north, or places in between. The rhythm of the wheels beats out time time time as we see the stations pass by; the multimodal transportation makes sense as a kind of pilgrimage, a worshipful homage to a prior era or lifted voices singing us homeward.

I remember the first bike-to-work day I got up extra-early and pedaled over to Millbrae, then got out early at California Ave and pedaled to work, about 40-45 minutes on both ends. Yesterday the fitness tracker told me I had hit over an hour by the time I was at work in the morning, though that’s suspect since it must have been counting the entire time spent in the donut shop (hey, it’s not worth celebrating bike-to-work unless there’s treats waiting for you, right?), so yeah, my ambitions have been scaled back quite a bit, you could say. Still, though, I’ll try going up to Millbrae one of these days, or down and out a little early once in a while.

The distance from home to work is a little too long to ride all the way regularly. Still, though, there’s the possibility that remains and the church of your mind is as silent and worshipful as you need it to be.



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