I took the train into the Arts Center transit station in Midtown Atlanta this morning at the crack of dawn with my bike and my weird little folding chair for the train, and then rode six miles to the City of Decatur (see super-short video for just a glimpse of the journey).
Once at the city-owned recreation center where I work as a bike skills educator, I co-taught our weekly seniors-on-trikes class to men and women who have a steel rod here and a cochlear implant there and a fake knee and a new life-threatening diagnosis and a cane and a wheelchair and a whole lot of positive energy. So many people are signed up for the rest of the month, in fact, that we are buying another tricycle so soon we’ll have four of the bright red beauties in our fleet for them to double-up on.
I rode my bright red beauty* back to Atlanta, past the Never Give Up mural and neighborhood Little Free Libraries and a new hammock garden on the Atlanta Beltline that I have yet to try, and I thought about how simple pleasures like riding bikes change lives. Even when the bikes are trikes.
*Meet Attica in chapter 2 from my work-in-progress, Traveling at the Speed of Bike