Going Carless

I don't have a car.

Well, at least, I didn't,

I don't want one you see. I've been living without one for over a year and I can count the times on one hand I've really needed one.

I bike. And El. And Metra.

I'm a reverse commuter. It takes me an hour and fifteen minutes door-to-door to my new job. I hop on my orange Trek in my black dress slacks, frilly taupe blouse, and over-sized silver hoops. My 2 inch t-strap wedges dig into the sharp-toothed pedals. And I go.

I hurtle through the early-morning traffic and snigger at the daily pileup at Roosevelt Rd. You poor slobs. I slip through the 12-inch opening. I meet the stares and smile broadly. Why is it so weird for a dressed up woman to bike? Men do it all the time.

As I travel, I smell things. In China, I used to name stinky smells: fried rotten tofu, gym socks smell, seeping sewage, chemical smells, burning coal, garlic-n-body odor. They were distinct smells - encountered on a daily basis. But there were other smells too (most of them food) - spicy mutton fat over an open fire, oil sticks, fried garlic, flatbread with chives, roses, magnolias, purple-y wisteria vines over the endless bike racks, diesel fuel. I smell things in Berwyn: magnolia trees, dill, basil, wet grass, french fries, exhaust fuel hovering above pavement, dead squirrel, and then the sharp harsh smell of some tree that I haven't yet identified. I love them all (even the squirrel) because they make me feel alive.

I pull up to a bike rack at my station and in one fluid motion, I dismount, set down my heavy bag, unhook my pant tie - and in a moment - I'm a professional. I wheel my black briefcase into the coffee shop, pausing to wipe the sweat with a tissue. And then I'm on the train.

I like the reverse commute. Who would ever drive this route? You're all crazy, just so you know. I listen to NPR and sip cinnamon dark roast coffee while planning my day on my Dell. My favorite conductor is Bill with the reddish-brown beard. He winks at me most days when he punches my 10-ride ticket. I smile and twinkle back - friendly.

I exit at a tree-lined station and walk the final mile. I smile and say "good morning" to every person I meet. They mostly like it, although some look at me like I'm crazy. But it makes me laugh when they do that. How did people get so disconnected anyways? I get lots of stares again: maybe it's because I'm still a little bit cute and not quite old or fat yet. Or maybe my fly is open. Who knows? Maybe it's boogers. Or maybe people just like to watch other people as much as I do. But I get stares every single morning - walking or biking. Maybe Americans aren't used to seeing active people in everyday pursuits. I guess I'm supposed to go put on a sports bra and spandex. But then, I'd still get stares, now wouldn't I?

I like this lifestyle. When I buy my house, it's going to be next to public transportation like now.