The ride across the Walnut St. Bridge is basically the same every day. I stop downstairs to say hello to Yonny. Yes, Yonny. My wonderful Greek landlord. Go figure. Yonny owns a breakfast/deli below us that is--for lack of less cute-sy adjective--adorable. It's mom and pop sheik? (Think: Grecian Diner meets Second Cup Cafe for all of you Allstonians out there...and if we really need to get technical, it has the convenience store effect of the Brookline Spa). Anyways, Yonny is great. And I'm not just saying that cause he's Greek. Okay, well maybe just a little bit.
We greet one another, in Greek and exhcange our thoughts for the morning (or early afternoon, depending on the given day, of course). He has become a sort of local GPS system for me, bike shortcuts and the such. I then ride up to Walnut, dodging fruit trucks and SUV's that have no real concept of what it means to share the road. When I hit Walnut, more than likely ensues a battle. Lina versus the SEPTA bus system. The game is simple. Lina laps bus. Bus does not care to share road with bike. Bus nearly runs Lina over in an attempt to lap Lina. lays down on the horn. Lina laps bus. I think you get the idea. In passing Rittenhouse, about half way down he street, mid-SEPTA bus fun, I'm somewhat scrutinized by a group of tattooed kids in cutoff jean short standing/sitting beside their customized bikes at the entrance of the park (full explanation of the Rittenhouse Social Caste System in future blog). Once I hit the bridge, I'm biking uphill, in the ridiculous heat. Simultaneously, I am now peddling against the wind, always. It's not a bad hill, more of a steady incline. I think it's just hot. But the hills have become somewhat less difficult, easy even, since I've started riding to work every day. Good sign.
There's a stoplight at 34th that marks the bottom of a hill before another incline begins. To date, I have yet to perfectly time my ride downhill so as to beat the light before it turns red...to clarify, I gain momentum, only to stop at a light and work my way uphill again. It's rather frustrating.
So.
It seems that I am no longer a Bostonian. No longer a Masshole, even. Who would've thought? I am a firm believer that life guides us forward to new places and situations only when completely ready to do so. It is something understood in hindsight. Just based solely on this theory, the thought to move to Philly months ago must be something I'm prepared for. I made it down here, didn't I?
I enjoy it here very much so. It feels so new and yet, so comfortable at the same time. I've also forgotten how much I truly enjoy writing about my day to day. I'll be doing this more often.
