Happy Cycling

I finished the illustrations for Cecilia's Wheels today. These were all done in Painter or Photoshop. Here's a brief synopsis of the story from a previous update.

This was a thoroughly enjoyable project despite the limitations in trying to cram the whole story in just six illustrations. Cecilia is actually the client, and this was a story her father wrote when she was a child based on her true experience of learning to ride without training wheels. The book was supposed to be a Christmas present to her father, but we started the project way too close to the deadline to make it possible. She did show her father the sketches though, and told me that it nearly brought tears to his eyes. I had a similar experience recently with another story, so I can say that although I'm not yet a parent, I can relate to Cecilia's father, knowing how personal and affecting a children's story can be even in adulthood.

When I first took this project on, I was inspired to do a bit of bicycling myself. As a housewarming gift, Alex's uncle gave us a pair of bikes that he bought secondhand and restored himself. I hadn't ridden a bicycle in years, and the first pass up and down my block felt like childhood all over again, accompanied by an almost delirious form of laughter.

Eventually, I began to explore Berkeley, and though I've lived in or around this city for years it was like discovering a new kingdom. My first time out was the perfect "Day in the Life of" montage. I rode down to a lake that sits beside the freeway. I've driven past this lake hundreds of times, and my impression has always been that it's just where shady men pull up and park along the surrounding brush, pretending to wax their cars when they're really looking for something much more sinister. Entering the park from the bicycle path, however, and I was introduced to a realm inhabited by a sense of innocence like the one I found when I started riding again.... well, at the very least, people were doing the kind of things people ought to be doing in parks. As I rode along the path, I noticed the pedestrian overpass spanning across the freeway. I've always driven underneath it, catching brief glimpses of people overhead; someone walking their dog, another chasing their hat as it made a bid for freedom on a gale force, or another holding a protest sign against the chain link fence to the zooming cars below. It was a strange realization, knowing that from my new vantage point, I was now one of those persons, a blur to the sea of traffic. The thought seemed to make time slow down for a moment as I soaked in the scenery that I've too often neglected.

I continued on, each new stop offering an entirely different scene: An old man seated at a bench along the pier with his terrier, looking at the ground in front of him rather than the gorgeous bay view. Kids out of school, attempting to fly a kite on the grassy hills of the Eastshore. Back at the lake, an elderly lady slowly trailed behind her granddaughter, who just discovered the largest jungle gym fortress anyone could ever hope to find (myself included). Disc golfers rummaged the lake shores for a lost frisbee. A painter who discovered this place way before I did, worked at his french easel on a view I wish I saw first. Even the freeway had its own "sweeping" view.

It's been a few weeks since that first adventure. Bicycling is now a little more routine, especially in conjunction with a certain plan to lose some holiday weight, but I still see something new every day. Unfortunately, just this past weekend I snapped something in the gear system while stepping a little too hard on the pedal, so I'm currently bicycle-less. But, taking a lesson from Cecilia, you can bet I won't go through the seasons sitting on my front steps.