Until today.

Today I was on the BART with my bike, and I had forgotten to bring anything to read, so I was sort of abstractly staring at the bike, and I saw the lettering on the bike frame reading "Crossroads." It hit me. My bike, clearly, is named Britney. Britney! Hello, Britney!

I decided to take Britney to school today to see how the commute would go. I left the house at about two, for my three o' clock class. (My original glorious plan was to leave at one and take my time. But it was the first day, so whatever. Everyone's late on the first day, right?)

I biked to the BART station and took the elevator up to the platform to catch the 2:16 train into the city. I am still not great at putting my bike on the train-- I run people over, the bike sits in the aisle awkwardly, and I can't keep it from falling over. I spend the entire ride apologizing to various freaky people that I've inconvenienced.

The first time I was on a train with my bike, the conductor came over the loudspeaker and said, "Your bike is not permitted on the first car of this train. This is a crowded car." All heads swiveled to look at me but I thought, "Oh, I know this isn't the first car. She's not talking to me." So, like everyone else, I waited for the offender to move their bike. Two minutes later the train took off.

When I finally disembarked, the conductor leaned out the window and said, "You know I was telling you to get your bike off the train, but I guess you didn't hear me." I had been on the first car after all, and all those people were staring at me like, "Are you deaf, you idiot?"

So today I got to the city five minutes before class and then biked madly down Valencia. Biking in San Francisco is quite scary. Lots more pedestrians, and cars don't care about you. I don't know what I did wrong, but I was in the bike lane and this bus passed me on the left, then totally pulled in front of me and cut me off. I was like, woah! Where am I supposed to go with this? (Onto the sidewalk, evidently.)

I got to class late by a few minutes, parked Britney in the corner and started taking notes. My hands were trembling from the adrenaline or endorphins or whatever it is that makes my hands shake when I get done biking. It took a good fifteen minutes before my notes became legible. What is that about?

Class was interesting, mostly a context lecture about the post-Civil War timeframe. I think the readings are going to be fabulous-- they're all primary texts, no criticism, and we're reading the biggies (Zora Neal Hurston, Langston Hughes) as well as the not-so-biggies (Jacques Roumain, Leopold Senghor).

It's cross-referenced as an undergrad class, so four of my former students are in the class, along with three of the four students who are new to my graduate program. One of the new guys takes his notes on a big roll of toilet paper. He disturbs me.

Class was otherwise uneventful, and afterwards I hopped right back on my bike and headed once more unto the breach. Back to the BART station, back on the train, back to getting in the way of commuters.

One thing is that I have no place to put my CD player, so I just stuff it in my bra. (When you have my rack, you can store anything in there. I used to put my stereo faceplate in there sometimes. It's handy.) Once in a while I had to adjust volume or something, and it was tough to do it casually. I probably looked like I was sitting on the train playing with my own nipples. I am so incredibly classy.

When I got back to my BART station, I took one look at the gorgeous weather and decided to bike along the Way of the Sacred Chicken for a while. Biking with a backpack is uncomfortable, but I stuck it out long enough to head to the end and back. I could have gotten off one BART stop earlier and just biked home from there-- didn't think of it. Maybe next time.

I also noticed that Britney is missing one of her headlights. (Hee.) And the tires still need air. And I need a bike lock, so I don't have to park in the corner of my classroom like a big dork. And I need a bag so I don't have to carry a backpack. Time to go back to the bike shop, I guess! Oh, dear. Always someplace new for my money to go.

On the way home-- and I've been waiting for this to happen--I crashed into one of those poles. I was grooving to my CD player, and then suddenly I realized I had miscalculated and I was going to crash into the pole and had no time to swerve. I slammed on the brakes and put my foot down. Something hit me hard on the inner thigh-- hard. It's gonna leave a bruise for sure. But I didn't fall off the bike, because Britney and I are one.

Aw yeah.