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Lee,

Sigh....

This photo reminds of when I lived in Beijing most of 1999.

I had a one speed bike much like the bike in the photo. It had a black basket on the front and a small rack on the back.

The black basket was perfect for small groceries or random shopping. The rack on the back was the size of a book rack in America, but was a passenger seat in China. I could take my students anywhere through tight streets and twisty alleys through the Hutongs.

I figure I was on my bike, at minimum, 2-3 hours each day.

And yes, I did feel poetic and free...

I miss my bike almost most of all.

Morf

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Note from Lee:

Morf, your remarks about poetry and cycling remind me of something author Flann O'Brien once said in The Third Policeman about Irishmen and bicycles (wish I could remember exactly what it was now!).

Which also leads me to recall an Irish joke I came across here.

"Cathal is at the pub when it closes, so he buys a pint a whiskey for the trip home and tucks it into his hip pocket.

He is riding his bicycle home through the dark night when he hits a pothole and goes flying over the handlebars.

As he lies there, slightly stunned, he feels something wet and sticky against his hip.

'Oh, please God, let it be blood!' "

Thanks for the comment!