On the way home from the grocery store, in the Mission, Matt and I saw a delivery bike hung up above the entrance to a bar.
“That doesn’t seem very practical.”
“Maybe the rider is nine feet tall.”
“Then the bike would have a bigger frame. That’s a normal-size frame.”
“Maybe he’s nine feet tall with really short legs.”
“Oh, yes, that seems likely. But it IS hard to park a bike around here.”
Heading up the hill, we saw a wheelchair chugging along, mom in the seat carrying her daughter, with the dad on a rider deck behind.
“Whoa! Three people on one wheelchair!”
“Now THAT’S an electric assist!”
It was sunny and warm all weekend, but thanks to having a preschooler at home who still naps, and with the Breezer in the shop for a few days, we spent more time indoors than anyone else we know. We did at least walk to the farmer’s market, to get some kale and strawberries and so our daughter could see the dog valet service, which for some reason she had been talking about all week. When I first moved to San Francisco, I thought valet bicycle parking was novel, but very little surprises me now.
“Look, it’s the Dog Barking!” [Yes, really.]
“I want to see the doggie ballet! Where’s the doggie ballet?!?”
“Doggie VALET. Valet, not ballet. It’s right there. The dogs don’t dance.”
More crying ensued with this morning’s earthquake at 5:30am. Why can’t these quakes ever happen when it’s time to get the kids up for school? At least it didn’t set off car alarms this time around.
In the evening, overhead at a restaurant: “Everyone is all about biking these days. All my friends have been getting bikes. What is up with that?”
“You should tell her about your blog,” Matt whispered.