In which this Janathoner feels incredibly young and horribly old at the same time.
Day 3 in Phoenix–the trade show is going well, and at 12:30ish I begin to feel peckish. I google to find one of the few downtown restaurants that is open on a Sunday. Ah, an urban pizza joint! I head out for what I expect to be slightly more than a mile.
It’s not far, but the trek is slightly disconcerting. I am too used to East Coast cities (Boston, NYC) where there are people out and about all. the. time. Instead, I’m wandering through this:
This, folks, is downtown Phoenix, AZ. The 6th largest city in the United States on a Sunday at 12:30pm.
Anyway, I got to the restaurant, and just in time, as I started to get that dizzy, nauseous, I-haven’t-eaten-in-too-long feeling.
And the restaurant has new winter hours. It opens at 5. I glance at my watch. It’s 1pm. Too long to wait. And I’m not exactly sure if I can make the trip back to civilization on foot. I contemplate Uber, but am not a fan of their CEO, and then I notice the bike-share carousel across the street.
create an account, I head on over, read the directions, download the app, enter in my credit card, create an account, tap in my account number on the bike, unlock it, and pedal away! (feel incredibly young and hip and web-savvy and just super cool).
I get back to my hotel where there’s another bike carousel, lock up the bike, proceed into the bar/restaurant where I order a trough full of food and strike up a conversation with the guy next to me. I’m so pleased with myself, I relate the story and share my french fries, because I way over-ordered on the food side. The bartender, my new friend, and another woman compliment me on my quick thinking. Together we watch the game, and then I head back over to the convention center for the remainder of the show.
On the escalator ride up to the show, I get a text from the bike share app, telling me I’ve used up my pre-paid hour of riding and am now on my 2nd hour. It hopes I’m having fun cycling.
I head back to the bike carousel, try to remember which spot I parked my particular bike in, and realize that I’ve never “signed out” upon parking. Shit. (cue: feelings of complete incompetence and being far too old for bike sharing).
There’s the culprit.