For a long time in Cape Town, I thought I’d be able to get by without a bike. Cars are crazier here, most of the city is on a slope, a bike would get ripped off in a heartbeat. But after about three months, the deprivation became to painful to bear, and I snapped up a cheap mountain bike (road bikes are hard to come by) listed on the South African equivalent of Craigslist. The gears were a bit screwy and the fork screwed on backward, but a genial German bike mechanic fixed it up, and I was on my way.

So the last couple of weeks have been absolutely glorious, as I carve out big chunks of my days to pedal through the sloping vineyards of Constantia and dainty suburban neighborhoods. The area actually has a fair number of bike lanes, and enough cyclists that cars know how to treat us. Yesterday I ventured into the city center under a dense fog, cruising through areas that wouldn’t be that attractive on foot (like these vast empty areas filled with soccer games on Sundays). The only problem is a blasted type of thorn that has twice punctured even my fatty trail tires—which just means another pleasant chat at the mechanic’s.