The bike is in the hallway and something is wrong with it. Hallway Bike is for that one bicycle: the soft tire, the light that did not come on, and whether you ride it tomorrow.
The Flat You Feel is the tire under your hand. Light and Lock is the lamp and the lock you will actually use. Tomorrow's Ride is the check before you wheel it out.
Each page finishes one job on this bike. A pressure or a minute is an illustrative example unless you are reading it off your own tire.
The tire is still soft and the light is dead. You were going to ride. Your rain jacket is slung over one arm, keys tucked in your pocket, and the elevator down the hall is dinging to signal it’s waiting for you. You kneel on the scratchy, patterned hallway runner, pressing your thumb hard into … Read more
Keys, light, tires. You are at the door with the bike. You’re half running late, oat milk latte sloshing a little in the cup holder slung over your handlebars, and the last thing you want is a mid-commute hiccup that makes you miss your team check-in. The building hall lights are dimmed to their early-morning … Read more
The pannier is on. It touches the tire when you push the bike. You’re halfway out the door for your evening grocery run, and the faint scratchy thud catches your ear before you even hit the hallway tile. You yank the bike back a half-step, propping one foot on the lower stair railing to lean … Read more
You thumb the bell. It ticks and stays quiet. You’re propped against the scuffed cinder block of your apartment hallway, one foot hooked under the crossbar of your beat-up steel commuter, the one you dragged up three flights last night in the torrential downpour that swept through the city right as you left work. Your … Read more
You stepped inside for a minute. The lock is still open. The hallway is dim, and a group of neighbors you don’t recognize just walked past the stairwell a few seconds ago. Your front door is propped half-open behind you, a half-full glass of water sitting on the entry table where you set it down … Read more
The helmet is hanging there. The strap is twisted. You pause mid-step to your front door, grocery bag slung over one arm, because you’d forgotten you left it there after your morning ride to the bodega. The plastic clip on the end of the twisted strap digs lightly into the rubber handlebar grip where it’s … Read more
Two bikes lean on the same wall. Yours has a scratched bell. You squint for half a second, finger brushing the chipped cherry red paint along the bell’s edge that you scuffed last month when you clipped the fire hydrant on your commute home. The other bike is a near-identical matte black hybrid, its bell … Read more
A bolt on the rack wiggles in your fingers. You pause mid-step toward your front door, 10mm wrench still tucked in the back pocket of your work jeans from the afternoon furniture assembly. The metal rack jiggles a full half inch left when you nudge it with your toe, the loose bolt clinking soft enough … Read more
The chain is dark and wet. The bike is inside. You’re propped against the cinder block wall of your apartment hallway, work gloves stuffed in your jacket pocket, rain still dripping off the hem of your rain shell onto the scuffed linoleum. You almost forgot to tend to the chain until you saw dark, gritty … Read more
The bicycle is across the hallway. Someone has to step over it. You stop mid-step, arms loaded with your takeout order and a stack of unopened mail, because your next foot would catch the rear tire and send you sprawling. The hallway overhead light glints off the scratched neon pink frame, and you spot a … Read more
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