Yesterday my commute to work was wholeheartedly frustrating. I left Leen's, a mere 3.2 miles away from work, at 7:05 a.m. and arrived in my cubicle over forty minutes later. The trip consisted of two loosely crammed bus rides. Chicago transit riders are consistently selfish about their morning travel space. There are often huge pockets o' room in the back of the bus while those in the passenger-loaded front artfully brace themselves to avoid being thrown through the windshield whenever the operator brakes. Sometimes the operator asks passengers to condense, sometimes not; the effect is usually the same: weak.

Now, at this time last year I would have simply hopped on a bike and ridden to work. But my current, shorter commute is just the length -- long enough to generate a copious sweat, but short enough to in no way constitute a morning's worth of physical activity -- where I'd rather take public transit and avoid a sweaty work arrival. Plus, I'm riding free on a CTA fun pass all summer. So this morning, I opted to bike the 1ish miles to the California green line station, from which it's an alleged six minute (two stop) ride to where I disembark. Perfect, right? I left at 7:30 and was in my chair by 8:01. On the way, however, an angry blackbird at the corner of Rockwell and Grand bombarded my head as I cycled through. While this experience was in no was as harrowing as last month's bat attack (unblogged, but certainly freaky), I am beginning to question what sort of allure it is that I exude toward black winged beasties.