There were dogs on the train. Coming home from work, a bit later than usual, I boarded a Red Line train at Chicago and State expecting the typical assortment of boisterous drunks and sleepy late-shifters. They were aboard. Also, there were dogs.

Judging by the breed (German Shepherd), the owners (in matching blue uniforms), and the muzzle (present) these were working dogs in some line of security. They didn’t have the slightest look of malice. Indeed, the one nearest me had the nervous pant of an animal who is quite certain he had no need at all to be traveling in this noisy, shuddering vehicle. He, quite adorably, continually pestered his master with pleading smacks on the hand. When he made contact, and managed to maintain this stance it looked like nothing more than a scared child begging his mother to hold his hand. My dog does this when he wants his belly rubbed.

Also, much like my dog, this canine detective — I suspect these dogs were trained not for interception but detection but I could be wrong — showed signs of advanced age and pained joints. His face and ears had a slight grayness about the edges and his sitting posture was crooked. Instead of sitting with his butt flat and all four paws on the floor he tucked his left leg under his hip. I suspect he had a touch of hip dysplasia on that side. His handler was a pleasant looking and very large black man. He indulged his companion’s paw smacks and the general unease of the car’s passengers with a wry smile.

I gradually became aware of a growing tension in the front of the car. There was another German Shepherd and another security agent at the front door. A man of indeterminate descent — he may have been Indian, but I’m not certain — was getting angrier and louder as he stumbled towards the back of the car to engage the large black fellow in a largely one-sided conversation. It would be fair to call this a “rant.” I do not know the reasoning behind his rage, as his diatribe was delivered in a broken and heavily accented fashion. I caught the word “racist,” though I do not know if he were referring to the dog or the handler, as well as a few phrases about “not understanding” him though he claimed to speak more languages with fluency than anyone aboard. He also threatened to sue both of the dog owners as well as the CTA. Perhaps the dog or the woman holding the dog looked at him askance. Perhaps he was threatened by the very presence of the dogs. Very likely he had something to hide.

And then, we arrived at my transfer stop. I and the dogs exited. The angry man stayed aboard, muttering to himself as he found a seat. The dogs left. The train left and another Red Line train arrived moments afterward. There were no dogs aboard.

Coming home from the L stop tonight I made a short detour for the nearest 24-hour Jewel store. The wife, you see, had no more orange juice and this task being well within my capacities I took it upon myself to fetch some. The snow had been coming down with some regularity for the better part of the evening. Several inches of powdery stuff had settled across the city. This trek was not nearly as effortless as I had imagined.

The snow gave testament that I was plodding through ground where no man nor beast had been foolhardy enough to tread for several hours. Taking exaggerated moon steps I slowly made my way across the drifts. My shoes — ill-fitted to this kind of weather — allowed my socks to become soaked. I gratefully acknowledged that it could be worse: it was much warmer than it had been the previous two nights.

Rarely one to back down from a challenge such as this I eventually made it to my destination, picked up two cans of frozen orange juice concentrate, the smallest box of cereal I could find that looked tasty, and a beer because by this point I felt I’d earned it. At this hour only one teller manned the registers: his own and the nearby self-service kiosk. Knowing I’d be carded for the beer I chose the former. It needn’t have mattered either way because the numbskulls who chose the self-service kiosk seem to have never attempted to master such a device and struggled to manage even the simplest of tasks. Unfortunately, they also brought produce.

The teller was preternaturally cheerful about the whole endeavor. I don’t know from whence he derived his good nature, but it was pretty goddamned heartwarming. When I asked him how he was doing this night he answered with gusto that he was doing “Great!” and seemed generally touched that I inquired. Truly he’s some sort of all-night grocery store saint.

Chicago, this bustling metropolis, is eerily deserted after midnight under a layer of snowfall. On certain blocks I felt as if I had the whole city to myself, having not seen a single soul in some time. Sliding across the snowdrifts in my damp shoes I could imagine, albeit briefly, being the sole survivor of a terrible holocaust. It could be quite peaceful being the last man on earth.

Gee, I hope that orange juice thaws before Staci wakes up.

Despite making little or no inroads into encouraging cycling — to the best of my knowledge — Richmond has proven herself rather amenable to a bicycle based commute. Many of the streets in The Fan are quite pleasantly wide enough to allow a cyclist ample space apart from traffic. Speed limits, tempered by abundant stop signs, are low. A great majority of the drivers on the road are mindful of cyclist’s rights.

I have, however, experienced a number of close calls. Many of these were squarely my fault and I accept all responsibility for them. A few were solely the fault of selfish drivers to whom I have angrily displayed my middle finger. While surely not the best tactic to foster good will towards the operators of two-ton crushing machines, this act did provide some solace.

I have been yelled at once, by an older fellow as I squeezed past a line of cars awaiting a left-turner. I was in the parking lane quite content to maintain momentum through a green light when this asshat decided he needed to move directly into my path to skirt around the turning automobile. Despite inconveniencing him for no more than a second or two he felt the need to shout something at me. I only caught the word “idiot” as the rest was utter gibberish.

A jerkwad towing a trailer forced me off the road in a turn. Unmindful of the swath of space his trailer occupied he whipped about the curve at full speed. I narrowly avoided being sideswiped into the dirt.

Just the other day a woman at a stop sign decided I mattered less than any oncoming motorized vehicle and turned directly into me. Or would have, had I not come to a screeching halt in the center of the intersection. I would point out that I had no such stop sign to contend with.

Yet, apart from these few incidents my commute has been pleasant. I catch more admiring glances than angry glares, or so it seems to me. Were the heat not so oppressive of late I would have nothing to complain about.

You may notice a few awkward changes around here. I’m in the midst of a redesign with very little inspiration to guide me. I decided to go ahead and cut clean my script.aculo.us usage that I might use the lighter mootools instead. Not knowing what to do with the content that once got served as JavaScript menus I set them free along the side. I’m none too pleased with the outcome, but will make efforts to repair it shortly.

My cycling test went very well this past week. I’m quite confident that I can keep this up long term. It was exciting to realize that I hadn’t moved my car in at several days the last time I got in it to run some errands too far to go by bike.

I’m in a gear shopping phase right now. I picked up a Chrome Citizen a little while back to serve as my basic transport. I’m very pleased with it after a week’s worth of commuting. It’s a very comfortable bag that feels solid. The stabilizing strap that goes under the left armpit does wonders to keep the bag where it ought to be. I tried riding with my old messenger bag and it just flopped all over and generally made the endeavor uncomfortable.

Yesterday I got a bike rack installed. I’d been considering a set of panniers, but those can be a bit spendy. Plus, they’re a bit awkward to deal with once at my destination. I’m liking the looks of the Topeak TrunkBags. They’ll clip right on and off of my new rack. I think they’d probably hold a pair of gym shoes, but I’d like to take a peek at them first.

My next big purchase probably ought to be a good rainproof jacket though. I’m really not too sure where to start for that. If I intend to keep cycling to work I’m really going to need some protection from the weather.

I started biking to work yesterday. I’ve been talking about it since I bought the bicycle back in March, but never mustered up the stones to do it until yesterday. So far, it’s been going rather well.

The distance I have to go is fairly short, no more than 4 to 5 miles at best. The traffic can get a bit dicey in spots. Crossing the busy road that leads downtown takes some time. I’m not above cheating a little and riding on the sidewalk if need be.

I’m starting to realize what a bag fetish I have. I picked up a Chrome Citizen over the weekend because I needed something comfortable. Staci has been continuing her research, and every company she looks into makes something I absolutely love too. I’m trying to figure out how badly I’ll need panniers or other carrying tools and I’m just looking way too much at way too expensive of items.

Cycling to and from work feels so much freer than driving. I feel like I could explore. If I want to stop for a minute, or peek down a street I’ve never been on, I can do that. Aside from the heat, I’ve actually been looking forward leaving work to get the chance to ride again.