Whether be the weather

It had gotten cold and suddenly it's sort of warm again: high of 74° and sunnyish. I think to myself: I should ride my bike to work since this might be my last chance before the true cold comes. But I tell myself I need to replace the chain, that I'll hate riding home this evening as it starts to get dark. And so I tell myself that I will bike this weekend, to the library, the city, a museum. But I check the weather. There is an expected 20° temperature drop and rain. Rain. To add further rust to my bicycle chain.

Bridges

I love driving over bridges. The Mackinac Bridge is one of my favorites. It connects mainland Michigan to the upper peninsula. The winds blow hard and the water rushes strong. I like looking over. They offer a free service in which someone will drive your vehicle over the bridge if you're too frightened, and I love hearing the stories about the sorts of people who use this service: truck drivers, regular joes and janes.

I ride my bike to work. In between my apartment and my job is a short bridge. When I walk over, I like to look at the brown, murky water, watch the debris floating down the kayakers past the young fishermen. I can't ride my bike over this small bridge. On the bike, my body is just high enough to fall over the rail if I bump it. If I look over, I may steer towards the edge. I love heights. I love the exhilaration of being high off of the ground. I love the danger. I am afraid of heights. I once heard:

"The fear of heights is actually a fear of your desire to jump."