Last night I pulled my bike out into the alley behind my house.  The alley is not what you're imagining.  It's an old paved road with grass breaking through the worn concrete, and the neighbors garbage bins all in neat rows.  There are trees and yards and private back patios lining the road on either side.  I stopped my bike. I set the kickstand.  Backed up a few steps.  And put John's camera up to my eye.

Over the next twenty minutes I proceeded to take 37 shots of my bike, circling it like a shark its prey, turning it this way and that like a purveyor of fine goods.  I crawled onto it, only to capture the right angle.  And all the while my neighbor two houses down stood in her garden steeling awkward glances.  Her clippers in hand, she eventually stood up and stared.

When I repeated the incident to Beau, he merely replied, "What, you live in Ballard?"

It's not the weirdest thing I've been discovered doing in my neighborhood.  Did I ever tell you about my antique anchor, and my need to carry it down the street at 7am on a Friday?