Today, I rode the Karate Donkey. I dropped my daughter off at school, took the boy over to our friend’s house to play with another toddler, and headed into work from there. There’s a few bugs left in the system, but overall it is just a blast to ride. Nothing says “WOOHOO!” quite like 60mm freakin’ balloon tires.
I left work around 6:30, headed up 2nd St., east of the Capitol, and stopped briefly at an ATM on Pennsylvannia. A fellow walking by got out a camera and took a couple shots of the bike. We talked for a while about the Donkey, cycling infrastructure in D.C., how awesome it is riding the trails along the Anacostia River tributaries, and how not so awesome it is getting from Northeast Washington to Capitol Hill and back. Turns out he’s this gentleman, pretty nifty. Gonna have to add another read to the list.
As we talked, on what was a simply delightful early Spring evening, the Donkey got some attention from passers by, a few eyelashes batted at it. I think one lovely lady even silently mouthed “Call me” to it when I was looking the other way. It’s got that kinda charisma.
Ruby Kickin’ Way Back on the Karate Donkey. Yeah, She Gets It.
Afterwards, I was riding North on 2nd, crossed East Capitol, rode on past Union Station, smiling and whistling “Dirty Old Town” with my hands on those sweet, sweet Nitto Albatross handlebars. I had this flash of illumination, and realized that I was really, honestly and truly happy. I mean really happy.
Now, I’m not talking about contentment. I’m as content and pleased with life as anyone could be. My life with my wife and my kids is the best my life’s ever been, and it keeps getting better. Or I get better at it. Or something. Whatever it is, I know what I’ve got, and I know how incredibly lucky I am. One might even say “blessed” if one were so inclined.
But this was different. This was hedonia. This was happiness that flowed like electric current and glowed like neon. And once I noticed it, I thought about how different the feeling was from a couple years ago, when we lived in Los Angeles.
It wasn’t that we didn’t enjoy it at all, ever. On the weekends, my wife and I and our daughter would ride our bikes down to Main St in Santa Monica, have GroundWorks coffee at the farmer’s market and let the girl run around the big lawn. We got up to Ventura and Ojai quite a bit, saw family and friends, and I played a lot of disc golf at some legendary courses.
But my commute there was a grim 9-mile crawl from Venice to West Hollywood. 40 minutes, give or take, of stupidity, hostility, ugliness, gritted teeth, grief and rage. Another hour to let the tension dissipate. Then, at the end of the day, the same thing going home. Twice a day, 5 days out of 7, 50 weeks out of 52, I was hating the world. Through the magic of iteration and resonance, the commute became the defining feature of life in Los Angeles. I just fucking hated it.
When we came to to D.C., just having access to a real train system was a tremendous lift. The station’s about a mile away, the ride to work is two trains, maybe 40 minutes, and I get to read on the way in. Which is a pretty big deal. You see, both my kids can detect a book being opened for pleasure from anywhere in the house, at any hour of the day or night, and they don’t stand for it. But just not having to drive every day, in fact going a whole week without getting into a car to deal with commuter traffic, that was a hell of an improvement in the quality of life. Every day.
And then came the bike locker. We were easily able to lease a bike locker at the Metro station, which meant I could ride to the train in the mornings and pick it up at night. Knowing that it was safe (and not having to pull the lights and water bottle off) got me riding more, even if it was only a short shot to the station.
The Black Cherry Trucker. The Karate Donkey. It’s All So Goddam Delightful.
Soon after, my funky prototype Torrelli streeted out mountain bike was replaced by a Surly Long Haul Trucker. Looking back, that was a big event with immediate effects. It’s a bike meant for the road, instead of a bike meant for climbing single track in 1995 that wears slicks for the city. But more importantly, I read up on fitting frames, did some measuring, and got the right size. The very first time I rode it, even though the seat, stem, and bars all needed adjustment, it felt like it was made for me. Boy is that a good feeling.
And then the trips to the station became… unsatisfying. About the time I’d feel warmed up and ready to roll, I’d be parking. Being on the Trucker felt really good. So one morning I decided to leave early and ride to work. I wasn’t sure how far it was exactly, or what the best route was, or how long it was going to take, but I didn’t wanna park it. I ended up beating my train commute-time by about 20 minutes, rolling through several neighborhoods I hadn’t been been through before, and really enjoying the ride.
Since then, I bike to work as much as I can, explore various routes, go out of my way some mornings to get a little more time in the saddle, and it’s been a blast. Rebbie says I come home glowing sometimes. The Karate Donkey Project (Karate Monkey + Xtracycle) is the next step, giving us the capability to haul loads and children, and hopefully even getting us closer to becoming car-free. We were probably using the car 8-10 times a month before we put this together. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re down to 3 now. That’s ZipCar territory.
But I’d be lying if I said that the Donkey’s main focus is utility, or that its sole mission in life is to get work done. It’s a smile machine. My wife loves riding it. My daughter lights up with a grin every time she gets on it. My son’s just a little over a year old, and he gets it. That bike’s fun, it just so happens to be really capable and useful as well.
And this beautiful day, I rode home from work on it under a Springtime Mid-Atlantic sky full of strong, colorful clouds. I whistled, and smiled, and said hello to folks along the way. I was filled with well-being, had the good fortune to notice, and the better fortune not to lose it by noticing.
I was happy. And happy’s alright, ya know?
