Whew ... I'm Glad I'm Retired!

     My town of Doylestown, Pa., holds a bicycle race every year called the Bucks County Classic. It took place this past weekend. There were events for children, for women, for amateurs and professionals. One of the events this year was the Brompton Burst.

     In case you don't know, the Brompton is a folding bike made especially for people commuting to work. You can ride it to your office, or the commuter train, then fold it up into a carrying case and stash it in your closet, the trunk of your car, or wherever you want to store it.

     Brompton Burst participants are required to wear business attire. (There's a prize for best dressed.) The race has what's called a Le Mans start, which means when the race begins, everyone runs to their bike, unpacks it, sets it up, then rides five laps around town. The track is about 1.3 miles -- so the race is a little over six miles long.

Notice the tie ... and it's raining

     It's supposed to be a fun, oddball event, a warm-up for the professional bike race. But the truth is, the event just reminded me . . . I'm glad I don't have to commute anymore, whether on a Brompton bike or any other way.

     When I commuted to a job in New York City, my official hours were 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. I never minded going to work early, if I had to, because there were plenty of earlier express trains. But I hated to work late.

     The last express train left Grand Central at 6:33 p.m. And my office was a comfortable 15 minute walk to the station. But once or twice a week, work would spill over past 6 p.m. There was a meeting or I needed to make a deadline. I knew I had to leave by 6:15 to make that last express comfortably. If I left at 6:25 I could still make the train, but only if I ran most of the way.

     I still remember nervously watching the clock. If it slipped past 6:25 I knew I'd miss the express. The next train wasn't until 7:05, and it was a local that took 52 minutes instead of 39 minutes. It meant I'd be getting home almost an hour later than usual -- sometimes because a meeting went ten minutes long.

The professionals take their turn

     And I still remember the many times I'd dash out of the office at 6:22 or 6:24 and, in full business attire, swinging a fully loaded briefcase, go sprinting down Sixth Ave. and across 45th St. to make that express train. In winter it was bad enough, slipping on the rainy pavement. But summer was worse. I'd leap onto the train, elbow my way to an empty seat, and as the train pulled out of the station I'd be breathing heavily, and I'd feel the sweat dripping off my face, soaking my suit, making me feel sticky and itchy all over. 

     So like I said . . . I'm glad I'm retired!