Occasionally I will hear the solitary wail of a freight train's horn and hear the clattering of it's steel wheels on the rails as I approach the trestle. It's like a foreshadowing of what awaits me in the hustle and bustle of the hospital, only minutes ahead in my day. But as I weave through the streets past the storefronts, the granite pillars of state buildings and last night's litter from the dance halls, the streets are mine for a few moments more.
I lock the bike up, grab my bag and secure my lights. I cross the street and try to remember what was at the beginning of my schedule when I left yesterday. The automatic doors retract their condensate laden glass panels to allow me into the air conditioned environment of the hospital, and my world begins to heat up.
Labels: Bike Journal