Squirrel Hill

I live in a neighborhood in Pittsburgh called Squirrel Hill. The significance of the name wasn't really appreciated until I started riding my bike again. There's a reason they don't call it Squirrel Plains or Squirrel Meadow, or anything resembling Squirrel Flat Tranquil Place.

There's a difference between riding the mile and a half to Downtown Hall in Springfield, and the mile and a half to Margaret Morrison Hall in Pittsburgh. In the morning, my ride is best summarized as a vertical drop. From time to time, my brakes seem to be a pleasant fiction. The ride back introduces me to gear ratios I hadn't realized existed on my bicycle.

As conditioning takes hold, the commute is beginning to seem plausible. And with gasoline at $1.75 a gallon and no parking available at CMU, I've got an incentive to keep at it.

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