The neighborhood had a mass garage sale this morning/afternoon and I rode 'round suburbia on my black Origami Crane. Folders are a perfect icebreaker, people were not kidding about that. Nothing quite like a comic yelp of "please don't sell my bike!"--I had two people try to buy it off of me (and one of those was a garage sale host trying to get rid of stuff, not accumulate more) and a few others marvel over the unusual design without understanding its special feature. I did show off a little, folded it up while chatting about when I got it and where and why, lifted it up unfolded with one weakling arm, talked up the genius of a bike that can grow with a pre-teen. I didn't think to bring bungee cords (I'll just cruise around. . .hop off and look. . .ok maybe one item. . .and that one. . .) so wasn't able to tote on the rack anything more impressive than a small bookshelf. Got to go vacuum some of the country accents* off of the bookshelves now. . .
*"Dust is a country accent"--decorative plaque, curiously immune to dust, in my mother's house.