The ball flew over a fence about a block ahead of me: Bounce, bounce, bounce, before settling into the gutter.
I scanned up and down the street. Good — no cars. I was pedaling home on one of the rat runs I use as much to keep things interesting as to avoid arterial roads. There would be no reason to panic if a kid ran out to fetch the ball.
But nobody came. I rolled up on the ball, looking for its owner.
The Bicycle Man
“Hey mister, could you throw that to us, please?” The tiny voice came from a young girl standing just inside her fenced yard. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven.
“Sure,” I said, dismounting. I fished the ball from the curb and walked it over. “Here you go — good idea not running into the street after it. Cars can’t always see you.”
“Thanks!” she smiled. I wasn’t finished dispensing advice.
“But be careful about talking to strangers. You don’t know me. OK?”
“My Auntie says you’re not a stranger,” the girl laughed. “You’re the Bicycle Man!” That’s when I noticed a figure watching from just inside the doorway. I recognized her — a woman with a funky, artsy, ramshackle front yard a few doors down. I usually waved as I passed. Now she was waving at me, casting a watchful eye over her niece and nephew.
The sun was going down, and I still had a few miles to go. I nodded to the Aunt, mounted up, and headed for home.
Street level
The Bicycle Man: I had a name around here. I’d become a part of the neighborhood without even knowing it.
That’s the second way a bike will change your life. It will connect you deeply with your community. You notice a lot more from the saddle than sealed inside an automobile. You catch bits of conversation and see the warm glow from people’s windows in the evening. You’ll catch the scent of fresh laundry or tonight’s dinner; hear the sound of hidden fountains and windchimes; watch the progress of flowerbeds and vegetable gardens. You’ll learn which dogs belong which which yard, and wonder why every neighborhood seems to have the same pair of shoes dangling from an overhead power line.
And people will see you — not a car speeding past, but a person on a bike. Now and then, they’ll say hello. Or perhaps ask you to pitch a ball over a fence. You won’t mind.
