If the first bus is late, or the second bus isn’t arriving when it does, I would have schlepped the bike around to no avail.
Somehow, I had a litany of things to do for work (prepare for a conference, do reference questions), and the Friends of the Albany Public Library (too many to count), and this Author/Illustrator thing at a local school on Saturday, and no time for much blogging, plus this couple I knew split up, and, per Yul Brynner, et cetera, et cetera. And I couldn’t sleep, because the brain was processing all of the above.
So let me note two just about perfect hours after work Friday. I had taken my bike to work (on two buses) and needed to take it (on two more buses) to the bike shop to get fixed. The 5:17 out of Corporate Woods to downtown had been notorious late all week, and indeed, is tardy most of the time. That day, I could have set my watch on it.
Get downtown, right when a bus going down Lark Street arrives so I can complete my journey to the bike shop. The Down Tube suffered a fire only a couple of months ago, and has more limited hours, only until 6 p,m., instead of the usual 7, but I get there with almost 15 minutes to spare. Have a nice chat with Eric, the store manager, while the bike’s quickly repaired.
Ride home – I’d missed that – drop off the bike, feed the cats. On the way walking to the barbershop, I yell to a family of four – the boy was running across the street, as a car was completing its left turn – alerting the mom to call him back before he got hit by the vehicle. A bystander said that it was fortuitous that I called out.
Get to the barbershop about 6:30 (it closes at 7), receive the desperately-needed haircut. Walk home, and actually find 20 minutes of alone time before the Wife and Daughter come home.
This was approximately 120 perfect minutes. If the first bus is late, or the second bus isn’t arriving when it does, I would have schlepped the bike around to no avail. I would have had to take it home on another bus, which would have probably put me in a more sour mood. My timing walking to the barbershop – if I had even bothered – would likely have been different, and who knows what would have happened to the kid.
Even amidst the slab of concrete of the last few weeks, a little greenery poked out.