Whenever we hop on our bikes, we not only expose ourselves to all sorts of elements, but we also come face to face with other bike riders.

Despite that, riders do not tend to talk to one another. We share space, but generally our only apparent common goal is coming and going each day from home to work and back home again.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe we don’t need to be acting as though every commute is like the end of a Waltons episode (anyone besides me remember this show?).

For some of us, though, being a bike rider in the city means being open to connection in a way you can’t get by taking Metro or driving.

When riding, we tune into all the other people also on bikes. Our bikes identify us in a unique way. Our bikes make us nimble.

The street becomes more than a thoroughfare that paves our way to and from the office. It’s a spontaneous meeting spot with a friend. A welcome interruption from anonymity and get-there-itis.

This morning Felkerino and I encountered our friend Tony riding into work on his relatively “new to him” Rivendell. I was running late. Maybe Tony was, too. We were headed in opposite directions.

But upon seeing each other, we all turned around to hang out and talk. We talked bikes, gas cans, Surly junk straps, and bike touring in the brisk morning air. It was the highlight of my day.

Our house, in the middle of our street.