The Bike Lane Ends Where the Politics Begin

city painted a lane for six blocks then stopped at the donor's strip mall. we ride the gutter. drivers honk like we chose inconvenience for fun. advocacy meeting tuesday. tired of meetings. tired of bruises. still showing up because the alternative is disappearing. strava segment hunters buzzed past on carbon while i maintained a line for sanity not leaderboard glory. the road shoulder disappeared where the budget did. i noted it for the advocacy email i will write tonight instead of stretching like a responsible athlete. the last ten miles were mental math about water, shade, and whether pride is worth a cramp. a driver waved apologetically after a close pass and i could not tell if that helped. legs burned on the dismount. the bike clicked happily like it had opinions. recovery drink tasted like chalk and victory.

The city painted a bike lane for six blocks, then stopped at the donor's strip mall. We ride the gutter. Drivers honk like we chose inconvenience for fun.

Advocacy meeting Tuesday. I am tired of meetings. Tired of bruises. Still showing up because the alternative is disappearing from roads that act like they were invented for cars alone.

Cycling is transportation and sport and argument at once. Every ride is data: here is where the infrastructure fails, here is where the policy memo meets asphalt.

The lane should not end where money begins. Until it does not, we ride in formation and remember each other's names.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

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