M.D.O.C.

I love riding my bike, and I now regret that I didn't have one for the first four-plus years that I was in Ann Arbor and that it took a pair of cousins visiting from Taiwan and their not wanting to ship back one that they had shipped over for me to finally have one.

I love how much stuff you smell from atop a bike: food that's being grilled at picnics, coffee from coffeeshop doors that open as you pass, grass being cut on lawns you skirt by, flowers from hedge bushes in bloom. Sunsets are amazing, the way the whole canopy of the sky gets blasted with color at the end of a summer day. (I understand the allure of convertibles now.) I even enjoy the slightly dangerous aspects of urban biking, like cars pulling out of driveways, cracks in the sidewalk, and pedestrians. And the way hills require a whole-body effort when you engage them on a high gear: love it.

All that may seem pretty obvious. But here's one benefit of bike riding I hadn't anticipated: how it makes for quick escapes. At the stop light coming away from the medical center yesterday I waited next to a man wearing a shirt with the letters "M.D.O.C." printed on the back.

Me: "Does that stand for Michigan Department of something?"

Him: "Michigan Department of Corrections."

Me: "Oh, do you work there, or...?"

Him: (with a grin) "I was resident there."

Me: "Wow, they give you a free shirt for that?"

[The light changes. I must have been pretty distracted because I don't notice until there's a flashing hand.]

Me: "Oop, I think we're missing it."

[We start crossing the walk.]

Him: "It also stands for Master's Degree in Criminology.... (pauses) That's a joke."

Me: (with apprehension) "How long were you there?"

Him: "Ten years the first time."

Me: "And the second time?"

Him: "Just a year."

[By now we've crossed the intersection and it's clear we're going the same direction on Maiden Lane.]

Me: (internally thinking, No sudden moves, Stewart, no crazy talk now!) "And, if you don't mind me asking, what were you there for? You don't have to talk about it...."

Him: "Possession of a stolen vehicle. I bought a car off some guy who had stolen it. Turned out he had previous charges. I should have got a bill of sale."

Me: "They didn't buy that, huh?"

Him: "Nope."

[He turns down Island Drive. A chance, a break! I'm continuing down Maiden Lane.]

Me: "Well, thanks for telling me about that.... Have a good night."

Him: "Yeah, no problem."

And then I was off, pedaling a little faster than I normally do on that street. Inside I'm thinking, "Don't look back, it's alright, just another day at the office. Did I give him any personal information? No, I don't think so." But the point is, if I wasn't on my bike, I wouldn't have been able to make such a quick, uh, getaway. Spaceman Spiff pulls out another one!