Winter 2012. 24 pages.
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Excerpts from Lines on the Map
When I bike around in a skirt or dress or a particularly loud outfit, I become aware that I am especially visible on my bike. With no steel doors and small windows to hide me, you can see me pass by in all my glory. I feel fantastic; that is, until I can’t help but feel the eyes of those who stare in that certain way that makes me feel sexualized and self-conscious. (Katelyn Hale)
I have a thing I do whenever I see other black people in places where there aren’t a whole lot of us around. When possible, I make eye contact, give a nod and a smile, and sometimes I even say hi as I pass. Some people return the greeting while others ignore me completely. I never know what reaction I’ll get in return. I don’t usually expect one – it’s just one of the things I like to do as a way of saying “I see you, baby.” I know I feel invisible when I’m out and about, so I do what I can to make sure I don’t contribute to that feeling in others. (Cecily Walker)
Road cycling for me is not about suffering. It is about this emotional connection. Somehow the feel of being on the bike, the sensation of speed, and even the pain in my legs become associated with the reward of seeing an affecting landscape. (Constance Winters)
Riding solo, there are always those streets, intersections, and encounters where you feel the limits of your life with dreadful certainty – if not in this moment then in some other, you are going to come up against that wall that stops your forward motion. The same streets, when you are riding with others, can be sites of camaraderie, joy, a reimagining of the city and yourself. (Elly Blue)