Between the first and second place, though, I discovered a neighborhood with alleys. I felt transported back to my childhood, when I mostly travelled by alleyway. The town I grew up in featured extensive networks of secret passages and little-known shortcuts, and I knew every danged one of ‘em. It was as if the thoughtful city planners had created a shadow street grid, perfect for a ten year old’s needs.

Alleys never have much traffic. The road surface can be a bit rough, but there’s no better way to get there on a bike. Also, unpainted truth lives in backyards. The front yard might be manicured perfection, the space behind the garage rarely is. I had the goods on everyone back then.

Consequently, I was delighted when I noticed that second place, the undetachable one, featured an alley behind it. Pumping up the short hill, I entered into that comforting nether world where front yard fiction devolves into garbage day reality. The place wasn’t awful. The backyard, defended by a seven-foot board fence, wasn’t quite postage stamp sized, which left this land-locked palace high-centered and completely surrounded with brick and asphalt. No side views, it seemed as alluring as a cavern.

I rode on by, sticking to the alley behind the next block, and the one after that, pleased with myself for discovering an alternate universe even here.

I was home in under an hour, sweat-soaked and invigorated, as if I’d ridden to Neverland and back again instead of scouting for someplace to rent. Had I gone by car or even on foot, I would not have discovered my inner alley cat still purring inside me.

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Car-less