I came home to my husband moving bikes from the garage to our back porch in preparation for our first northeaster. Our vehicles must be off the street to allow snowplows to do their job, otherwise automobiles are towed, and well, that unpleasant scene happens only once to remind car owners to check city alert signals when a storm is expected. I felt a bit wistful as I held the front door open as my husband wheeled our bicycles inside and through the rear kitchen door.
He must have noticed the sad look on my face. "It'll be easy to bring your bike back outside," he said.
He's right, of course. My helmet is in a hall closet. Boots are handy. A choice of gloves are in a basket, ready for walking, skiing, or cycling. All I have to do is heft the bike outside, and if I'm alone I manage by holding the screen door with one hand (lock on shock hinge slips) and scoot down the steps before the door slams into the rear tire, or worse, clips my ankles.
|Ducks and walkers use the waterfront path.|
|Some one's been riding dirt trails along the lake shore.|