Hoofing It

I've been riding my bike to work everyday lately because I just got the thing fixed, but before that I was walking home in order to try to save a little bit of cash from the CTA. They just raised the fare again, so now five bucks can only get you 2 rides.
I was walking on the bike path along the lake. It takes about two hours, give or take. I have the odd ability to read and walk at the same time, something that is pretty much essential when you are trying to ignore all the energetic yuppies playing their after work volleyball game or talking on their cell phones whilst rollerblading. Scoot scoot scoot. From a distance there are hundreds of volleyballs popping over the artificial horizon line the web of nets create, and as you walk by the games the popcorn metaphor that comes to mind is reinforced by the popping sound made by the perpetual clapping coming from one game or another when the ball falls out of play. I gave myself a bit of a giggle when I imagined all the volleyballs suddenly turning to solid stone in mid air, cutting the projected arc short as gravity yanked them all straight to the ground. I could hear the cries of surprise and pain as this or that well toned, kenneth-cole-sunglassed day trader made a desperate dive to save the ball for the team.
On one of these walks home, at one of the sailboat piers, I saw fish in the lake for the first time like ever. The sky was purple and filled with thick, solid clouds because it was about to rain, so I was trying to walk kind of fast, but I couldn't keep myself from standing there and staring into the water at them. They were HUGE. I have no idea what kind of fish. Maybe goldfish, because one of them was the color of rust. They were hanging out about three feet below a scummy island of trash that had collected in the corner of one of the docks. There were wine bottles, empty bags of chips, beer cans, and thousands of cigarrette butts bobbing in the lazy waves, left in the water by the seasons upper echelon enjoying the summer evenings in their boats safely at dock. As I watched a mallard even waded through the muck, testing out little pieces of unidentifiable human castoff for edibility. I've lived in Chicago for 7 years and the first time I see fish in the lake is under a floating island of garbage. Isn't that awesome?
I'm on my bike now so I can't really read while I commute anymore, whichi is kind of a bummer. So far this summer I read Hell's Angels, by Hunter Thompson, Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami, and The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath. Suicide was a major theme in the last two books. Hm. And Sylvia Plath actually comitted suicide, like, a month before that book was published. It's sad.
But I do get to listen to music while I ride. I secure the headphones over my face with the strap of my helmet, so it looks like I'm wearing a football helmet. Lots of people smile at me when I ride by them, except for when I also where my secret agent rear-view-mirror sunglasses and a dust mask, too.
But I'm getting sick of my music. I need some more. Any suggestions? I like all kinds of stuff.
But I still miss walking a little... Owell. There are good things and bad things for everything.