TheBanyanTree: Tour de St Paul

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I bought my bike a few years ago, but I only rode it up and down our little
cul de sac when my grandsons were riding their bikes.  After we moved into
our new house, which is located in such a great area for bike riding, I
filled up the tires, tightened the screws, and winced as my poor sore knees
were asked to bend more than they want to, and began riding around the
neighborhood.  Ray put a bike rack on my car, so now I can transport my bike
where ever I want to go.

Minnesota has invested a lot of tax dollars into bike trails.  We have them
all over the place and from what I’ve seen this summer, people do actually
use them.

I wanted to get away from the river for this bike ride and there is a bike
trail which begins a couple blocks from my house and has a cat walk over the
freeway and then continues in another neighborhood.  I had only gone as far
as the cat walk, so I decided to see where this trail really goes.

Now, I don’t wear a bike outfit, or ride really fast, or do mountain bike
stuff.  I ride like a kid, zig-zagging on the sidewalk, and I wear jean
shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes.  I do wear a helmet and bike gloves, to
protect my delicate hands, but I Lance Armstrong I am not.

The stage was set.  I was done with my Saturday chores.  The sun was
shining.  It was warm, but not hot.  We had nothing planned.  It was a
perfect day for a ride.  After I got over the bridge, the trail wound
through the West 7th Street neighborhood, a blue collar area with smaller
older homes.  I loved riding by the gardens.  One cute little house had a
shady garden with a fire pit  and a horse shoes area.  Even Martha Stewart
would envy that little backyard.

I had to stop at a traffic light.  I was almost downtown.  I could go
downtown St Paul or as I looked to my left, I could walk my bike up this
very steep hill to Summit Avenue, which is St Paul’s Garden District.  I
thought the reward was worth the pain, so up the hill I went.  I WALKED up
the hill, my bike is only a six speed, and Lance Armstrong I am not, so I
made a slow, steady climb, stopping only once to take a swig of water.

I got to the top and looked back and saw the river nestled between the
bluffs.  Then I got on my bike and rode down Summit Avenue, admiring the
beautiful mansions, the gardens, and the people of all kinds strolling or
riding down the Avenue with me.  Summit goes west all the way to the river,
but I turned off and rode DOWN the big hill to home.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net

War does not determine who is right - only who is left.
~Bertrand Russell