On Riding With Friends, Neighbors, and Strangers

I am in a position to do something I don’t believe I’ve ever done in four years and 363 days of commuting: ride in an automobile to and from the station in the same day.

In these five years, I’ve received mercy rides from neighbors, as well as strangers, including:

The nice Irish lady on my block with a sad 9-11 story to tell.

Little Red Running Late.

The crazy Russian guy.

The woman who vetted me for dangerousness before allowing me in her car.

This morning, I set out on foot because I am due to pick up a rental car at Hertz in North White Plains today, and didn’t want to deal with picking up the bike at the station later. (If ever you find yourself in need of a rental car near Metro-North, you really can’t beat the Hertz across from North White. Should I, like, try to sell them an ad or something?) .

I’d barely hit my street when my neighbor across the way headed out to her car. For the meager price of scraping the frost off her rear windshield, she drove me to the station. We spoke of our neighbors and the dire parking situation for an 8:16 rider out of Hawthorne, and her unfortunate bumper incident at the station recently.

And this eve, I navigate the wilds of central Westchester in my rented generic compact OldsmoBuick Fiestaurus for the next 24 hours.

No biking. No bipedal-ing. No, two tons of steel hauling my 200 pounds (OK, 208) to and from the station.

I feel so very American.

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