The Airportline: Observations

From my notepad:

And there are Spanish people in the bike lane, and I can’t ring my bell at them, cause the ‘I love my bike’ bell my friend bought me in September has still not been installed by me. So I yell: ‘hey!’ with a strict Dutch sounding voice, the Spaniards open the sea of road for me with jumpy movements. It must have been how Jesus felt when he walked on the ocean floor, I think when the paved, Spaniard-less, road opens up in front of me. In a triumphant fashion I bike past them, and keep on travelling, like I was a very important and busy person with no time to spare on uncoordinated groups of Spanish tourists. And a few blocks later my tire goes flat. And I am forced up on the sidewalk, with all the other bikeless people. It’s about as pleasant as riding the bus in San Francisco through the Tenderloin. My life is not adjusted for the side walk, I think, as a Dutch man rings his bell at me when I try and cross the street.