Pictures taken in the Arboretum during a July 4th bike ride.
Now you know we’re really serious about biking.
On Saturday, JoAnna and I pedaled to her 12:00 salon appointment at Sojo Blau, even at the risk of her getting a serious case of helmet hair on the return trip.
“I just won’t have him style it,” she explained.
“Just a cut and color then,” I clarified, as if this were something very important to me.
Gazebo in Orton Park
While she was getting her hair done, I continued on my own, exploring the Marquette neighborhood on Madison’s near-east side. As much as possible, I tried to follow the streets along Lake Monona, which appeared to be in the midst of its first algae bloom of the summer season. At the B. B. Clarke Beach, I saw three lifeguards and no swimmers. Can’t imagine why frolicking in water that looks like dirty green Jell-O is such a turn-off.
B. B. Clarke Park Beach in 1951 (from Friends of Historic Third Lake Ridge website)
(And then there's this look.)
At my farthest point east, I meandered through a neighborhood of modest, well-kept 1920s-era homes situation on small lots. The country-club version of this type of neighborhood, Nakoma, is found on Madison’s west side. Even today, the dichotomy is still strongly associated with Madison’s geography.
East side = blue collar, working class.
West side = white collar, professional class.
One well-known Madison politician frequently referred to himself as being from “the east side of Madison – the working side”. I don’t think he meant to be divisive, since he continued to make this statement during a run for Governor, when he needed everyone’s vote in Madison. Nevertheless, I always wondered if west-siders at these political gathering ended up feeling like idlers.
Intersection of Rutledge & Ingersoll (above & below)
Heading back to the Capitol area, I found myself looking straight on at the front end of a car in the 2300 block of Summers Avenue.
Holy shit! This guy’s gonna hit me!
In spite of my panic, I manage to swerve to the right, toward the curb, my shoes still clicked onto the pedals, and felt myself tottering, ready to lose my balance.
Oh god not again!
Although my head was filled with various thoughts, I remained mute – no shout, scream, or harsh profanity blasting out of my mouth. My focus became so intent on remaining upright and unscathed – successful on both counts – that I didn’t even notice who was driving. Man? Woman? Old? Young? Drunk? Sober? Talking on a cell phone? In fact, I couldn’t give you much of a description of the vehicle, except that it was gray and possibly a hatchback.
I just wanted to move on.
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