One thing I like about bike commuting is the opportunity to experience more of my city. In the morning, I might see a single scull or kayak slip under the University Bridge, the rising sun reflecting on the Olympic range, or a familiar landmark partially obscured by fog.
Of course, the downside of such an immersion is a heightened awareness of Seattle’s runaway construction projects. I rant about the state of our roads because I’m all too aware of how poor they’ve become. As I daily dodge cement trucks, impromptu street closures, and poorly patched pavement—a victim of heavy equipment or new-utility runs—I can only wonder about the sustainability of Seattle’s current development choices.
In the morning, I worry if Seattle knows what she is doing.
Come evening, the construction workers have packed it in for the day and darkness helps hide Seattle’s open sores. Her familiar skyline shines, cheerfully helping me ignore the forest of yellow cranes. I ride and watch happy couples queuing up for dinner or drinks on Eastlake. On the Ave, I ride and feel the energy of students finished with classes for the day.
In the morning I curse the effort stolen by a south wind. But in the evening, that same wind—the bigger the better—means a speedier trip home to my family. I catch a lucky low tide; the wind carries the fresh, salty breath of Elliot Bay.
I’m reminded that I’m less than a mile from a body of water that connects me to the entire world and exactly where where I want to be.