You know what’s worse than forgetting your hat on a chilly bike-riding morning? Forgetting your gloves. It’s less than a mile downhill to Penn Station, but oh boy, my fingers were icicles when I got there.Sometimes I can’t believe what a rookie I am at dressing myself. Anyway, I got there nice and early, spent some bucks to get some tickets for the rest of the month’s rides–wow, this is cheaper than car ownership–and settled in to watch the crowds gather. I can already see that having a commuter rail routine means getting to know the commuter rail routines of a whole bunch of other people. Like the guy with the green and yellow Brompton. I’m jealous of his Ortlieb front pannier, and I deal with that jealousy by judging him, just a little, for spending the extra dough for two novelty colors–unless I’m feeling jealous of his novelty colors. And then there’s the guy who just has a bike helmet with him. He’s probably one of those bike-at-both-ends guys. The two bike guys stand next to each other, and I wonder if we would have a lot to talk about, since we all use bikes to commute, or if the part where I’m a girl and wearing a skirt and girly boots would change the conversation–it often does. Unless we’re just talking about bikes. And then they announced the gate–C–but everyone had already started going down the stairs of Gate D, just like R. showed me how to do on Tuesday. The regulars are on to something, and it’ll take just a couple of weeks for me to know all the tricks, too. And then I can internally roll my eyes at the newbie asking if all the doors open at Halethorpe and struggling to shove her bike in the cubby hole while holding up traffic for the rest of us. And then N. walked up, R. right behind her, and I smiled. Hi, train friends! A quick ride and then a cold ride up the hill, and I was at work. And I’d already gotten to ride a bike. The novelty will wear off, but don’t mind me as I enjoy this new relationship with Brompty.