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Because I have a weakness for stories, I constructed a few in my mind. I imagined a four-year-old girl looking at Lara Favretto's pieces. Wow, I thought, that girl is a much better kid than I was!
Then again, she might have been sneaking away from her parent(s) or whoever else was caring for her. That would make her more advanced, at least, than I was. Imagine having the wherewithal to be able to rebel in such a way! Imagine being able to choose, at that age, riding your bike to an art museum as a form of rebellion!
Or, perhaps she (I assumed she was a girl. I apologize for being so inculcated with patriarchal notions!) was a midget hipster, or hipster wannabe. Believe me, I've seen hipsters ride much stranger bikes than this one!
As I was about to take a picture on my cell phone, a woman walked toward the bike. I explained that I wanted to take a photo for this blog. I got to glimpse and wave at her daughter, who rode the bike and whose name I didn't get. But the mother's name is Holly. Holly, I hope you're reading this!
Anyway, from PS 1, I rode over the Pulaski Bridge into Greenpoint. On the bridge's bike/pedestrian lane, and into Brooklyn, I found myself riding behind a man on this bike:
It's a Strida. I snapped the picture--again, with my cell phone--as we were riding. I was going to approach him at the next light, but he turned. Oh well.
Perhaps the little girl who rode the bike parked at PS 1 will grow up to ride a Strida--or Brompton or some other small-wheeled bike for grown-ups. And maybe she'll bring it inside PS 1 or her school or workplace.
On the other hand, I don't imagine the man I saw on the Strida had ever ridden a bike like hers!
