Atlanta is a city of rolling hills, as if the gentle swell of a calm ocean had solidified into rock, overlaid with concrete. I suppose this has something to do with tectonic plates and long-gone seismic activity, but for the bike-commuter, it means alternating between torture and exhilaration - the glory of flying and the agony of slowly pedaling uphill.
Tonight, as I plodded up the final hill in my neighborhood (too steep for my burning thighs and aching lungs to handle on the bike), I thought about the adventure I'd just had. The cracked sidewalks, sporadic streetlights, cars whizzing by too close for comfort; the random men walking, catcalling, glaring, and even apologizing for almost running into me... I thought of urban hiking, and how not-trendy it is, despite nature-hiking being practically a requirement for people between the ages of 20 and 30. That, I thought to myself, is what I call an adventure,
And it makes me wonder if, having once learned that you can overcome the cultural norms you have in your own head, if that desensitizes you to other people's ideas of what can and cannot, or should and should not be done. I am always doing things other people find too inconvenient, or just plain untenable, but those things always seem totally reasonable to me until someone else makes a comment.
In any case, I've been carless this week, and it has led to some interesting reflection. Ha! These are only a few thoughts, but we'll see how long it lasts before the novelty wears off.
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