Scott's Action:I bike and train it to work everyday. You'll see me bombing polk street in the mornings hitting speeds close to mach 3.
Bold votes: 7
Scott's thoughts:I wake up late, after hitting the snooze button multiple times. I do this intentionally to be honest. The later I wake up, the less time I have to make it to the Caltrain, so the faster I have to ride my bike. Google's bike route tells me I should set aside at least 25 minutes for my route. From experience, I know I can do it in 14. This is not a casual 14, but rather a full blown sprint that weaves through lanes of stopped cars, cranks through yellow lights, out races other bikers, ultimately leaving me wanting to collapse.
I give myself 20 minutes: 14 for the ride itself, 3 for buying coffee at the station, and an additional 3 for unforeseen obstacles. There’s nothing like a sense of urgency to bring out the bold in all of us.
6:24 am
Snap my helmet clip, double click my rear light to blink mode, hastily roll the right leg of my pants up, buckle the chest strap on my bag, glasses on, and PEDAL. I’m zero to mach 3 in just under 5 seconds. Legs pound pound pound up the first 3 hills. From here it’s a mile and a half of straight down hill. I bomb Polk, and I peak in the windows of all the cars I pass. I must admit, I derive great pleasure from passing stressed out drivers stuck in traffic. Get a bike!
I have all the one-way streets memorized and it’s just a matter of keen observation and quick reflexes that allow me to navigate the bumpy roads while avoiding being plowed by oncoming cars. Once I hit Market, things slow down. I hate the market intersection because I actually have to use my brakes. I wait and I wait, my muscles get a moment to breathe, but only a moment. The yellow light of opposing traffic equals go time, pound, pound, pound, my butt above the seat. From here on out it’s mostly flat. I flip my derailleur into low gear and pedal like a madman. I feel like a child again, riding my red racer through the streets of my hometown. The wind catches my hair and blows it off my head like wild fire. The cold air of the mornings dries my lips and throat. My nose drips and I wipe it carelessly on my sleeve. Pound, pound, pound, I glance at the time, no time to waste. Butt up, full weight on each leg as I stomp my way to victory. Lactic acid builds, my lungs burn, my heart beats through my shirt, no time to lose, got to make my train.
I fly through the finish line and squeeze both brakes hard. My wheels lock and I glide to stop. I love the smell of burnt rubber in the morning.
Drink my coffee, load the train, and throw some Led Zeppelin on the iPod, no better way to start the morning.
Life is short, act BOLDER.
