3,684.6 Miles Total
I bought an e-bike in September 2023. Her name is Zelda Zoomie.
Since then, I’ve been embarking upon this outrageous personal project where I’ve been biking to and through every Ann Arbor street in the least efficient way possible — in alphabetical order. I average only 2.5 letters per year! I’m glad to tell you that I finished the F streets today, and as a bonus, Strava also informed me that it was my 600th ride.
Every time I finish a letter, I like to write a reflection on what it means to be connected to a sense of place. And this era of riding has been especially meaningful and reflective for me.
When you’re exploring an area that’s important to you, you’re definitely discovering a sense of place. There are a myriad of details to notice: flowers, birdsong, greenery, the bumps of certain roads, the occasional scurrying of animals across your path, the names of restaurants, and the nooks and crannies along the river. You begin to notice which roads lead to other roads and which neighborhoods are connected to others. There are oodles of details connected to place.
But when you’ve lived in an area for a long time — for me, nearly 13 years — you do more than discover place. You discover time.
I’ve been reflecting on this quite a bit lately. It’s not only noticing that the crabapple trees on Platt Road turn pink in the spring or that the locust trees on Stadium Boulevard turn yellow in the fall. It’s discovering the time for them. Anticipating them, even. I can encounter them and say, “Ah, yes, it’s time for that bush over there to grow lilacs with the most glorious scent imaginable.” Or, “There it is! I heard it. The red-winged blackbirds are back.”
And once I’ve started linking the discovery of place to the discovery of time, it’s not difficult for the unfolding details of place to reveal the contours of my own sense of time.
Thirteen years have led to relationships. And growth. And questions. And shared work. And community. And purpose.
Recently, I was moving through town, not on my bike but in my car, when one of the movements from Duruflé’s Requiem came on. You don’t need to know the piece personally to understand that certain music can immediately bring back powerful memories.
I have a vivid memory of listening to this piece on repeat in another city, walking around and dreaming about the possibility of moving to Ann Arbor. I had a deep intuition that the move would eventually happen, and I kept thinking, “There are people there for me to meet.”
Have you ever had the sudden awareness that you haven’t yet met everyone you will someday love? But you know you will? That’s how I felt in 2012, walking around, listening to Duruflé’s Requiem, and dreaming of moving here.
When I was in my car, listening to this piece, I was overcome with gratitude that I was listening inside this town. Now many of those people have names. Each with memories and love attached.
So the discovery of place and the discovery of time are linked. Eventually, all the particular places hold memories, seasons carry familiar terrain, and geography becomes relational, too. #ReneeBikesAnnArbor
—Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 