I am driving up Boulevard in Atlanta on the way to work and am waiting at the light when a bicyclist, wearing his helmet and bike pants comes across the other way, manuveuring like a fine sailboat on a choppy asphalt sea. It was indeed poetry in motion to watch him command his vehicle, disappearing in the distance.

My mind flashed back to my trip last December to Amsterdam. Everywhere there were thousands of bikes, whole walls of them. On various corners at night, maybe 30 or 40 of them parked, awaiting the owners to remount and head to school or work the next morning. There is an atmosphere of trust in which you leave your bike there and expect it to be there when they come for it.

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