All Things Profane and Sacred

I've been biking to work in the mornings, waiting for that magic day when I can make it all the way up the hill on Russel Street on my way home. It's a short trip, but I'm terrified of biking in traffic and still have some problems not visualizing getting run over, doored, tripped or squashed. Since a big chunk of my route is right on the bike superhighway, serious bikers tricked out with all their bike bling (there, that stupid word must be totally out by now, since here I am using it. I killed the bling bling, yar!) keep passing me effortlessly. Of course, they also have bikes that cost more than my car, bikes that my 1970s Schwinn, Squeaky, just can't compete with.