you don't need a car

this is mr. bear, a frankenstein single-speed i rode around atlanta for years.

It’s been nine years since I’ve owned a car. In that time, I’ve hitched rides with friends and strangers and taken the bus. But I’ve mostly ridden a bike.

I’ve been sunburned and sweat-soaked and caught in torrential downpours and frozen numb. I’ve ridden on an empty stomach, on no sleep, after a few too many beers, crying hysterically. I’ve hit loose gravel and slick pavement and sand. My chain has fallen off and my brakes have given out. I’ve flown over the handlebars, skidded on pavement, and toppled over sideways. I’ve patched flats and replaced frayed brake cables and trued my wheels. I’ve ridden a beach cruiser in Japan and a mountain bike in Africa and a fat-tire Surly in Antarctica. I once biked eight miles with probably 40 pounds of books in a backpack; another time, I rode 77 miles in a blazer and tweed shorts because who says you can’t ride 77 miles and look cute doing it?  

And I’ve biked from Raleigh to Seattle.