BY GREG HANSCOM – Grist
This year, as we have in years past, my wife and I packed up the kids and flew across the country to spend the holidays with her family in suburban Baltimore. Christmas at the Thomas house is always a festive affair: crab soup, wine by the bottleful, quality time with grandma and grandpa and sundry cousins. And for my benefit, they keep the Barry Manilow Christmas tunes to a minimum. (Sincere thanks for that, guys.)
There’s just one problem: Put me in the ‘burbs for more than about 48 hours and I go completely batshit. I’m not sure what it is that sets me off. I completely understand the appeal of the place, having lived in Baltimore proper. It’s peaceful here. And safe. No need to lock your doors. But in suburbia, I feel trapped.
I need wheels. But here’s the other problem: Put me in a car in traffic for more than about 48 seconds and, you guessed it, I go completely batshit. Instant road rage. I swear. I’m just not a well-adjusted 20th/21st century human. My parents did their best, really (here’s looking at you, mom and dad), but they brought me into the world about a hundred years late.
This year, though, I was determined to spare my family the experience of dealing with yours truly in the midst of a stoplight- or split-level-induced freak-out. I went looking for a bike. I needed something that could get me around the neighborhood and to the town-bound train. Bonus points if I could take it on the train and use it to get around the city.
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https://www.grist.org/biking/2011-12-22-merry-bikesmas-a-1970s-schwinn-livens-up-a-family-holidayoldId.20111226003246512