Tales of Indianapolis, by foot

Since I recently moved into a new house, (yes, yes, I moved into a new house. I’m getting to it.), I’ve had to find a new walking path. You know, for the rare occasion when I feel like I need to burn a few calories/spend some time outside/see the sights. Luckily, the Cultural Trail runs right past my neighborhood.

Hooray, Indianapolis, for placing such a beautiful and convenient trail just steps from my front door!

The three mile loop that I’ve been taking starts at my house in the Holy Rosary neighborhood and circles around downtown. Ahh, imagine the sites a calorie-burning lady can see whilst power walking through the hustle and bustle of the big city!

Here are some things I witnessed on my walk yesterday:

  • A teeny tiny baby in a full bathing suit and life jacket, walking down the sidewalk. Please note that we’re in the middle of Indianapolis. Indiana. 
  • Two young ladies and a dapper  young fellow exiting ye olde Pita Pit. As I walked past, one of the lovely darlings, (she couldn’t have been more than 14 years old), cute as the life jacket baby’s button nose, screamed, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, JEREMY! I’M PREGNANT!” Let us just assume the glowing mother-to-be consumed more than one pita for dinner.
  • A car full of young women, all dolled up, presumably arriving downtown for dinner and a night out. As their car neared me, one of the dears in the back seat pulled out her phone and took a picture of me. Then all of the girls started laughing as they sped away. Well, either it was a picture of me or the building behind me. Come to think of it, I’ll bet it was a car full of architecture lovers who appreciate the humor in contemporary government buildings.
  • A different car of women, this time only two women, who I could hear before I could see. Driving with the windows down, the one in the passenger’s seat was screaming at the one in the driver’s seat, until the one in the driver’s seat came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street. Both women jumped out of the car, ran around to the other side, and switched places, still screaming at each other. Apparently, one of them is not used to driving in such a bustling metropolis.
  • A boy I might have nearly-dated in college. I say nearly-dated because I thought we were just hanging out one evening and watching a movie. As I came to find out (a few days later from a mutual friend who was asked to contact me after I didn’t call the boy following our platonic friend hangout), he thought it was something more. I didn’t see him after that, and I haven’t seen him since. But this gentleman today – approximately my age, riding a bike, pulling two small children (presumably his) in a buggy behind him – this gentleman could have been that boy. I made creepy eye contact and kind of grunted “hey” when he passed, just in case.
  • And finally, the Bike Bar. The latest and greatest thing to ever happen in the history of Indianapolis, or so it seems, the bike bar is a bar (like, a drinking bar) that rolls about town, powered by its patrons’ feet. It’s actually called The Handle Bar. I swear on my sister’s hamster, Waffles, that I see this thing every other day. I think it follows me. Yesterday, I walked along the same path, and at nearly the same pace, as the Handle Bar for an entire 0.6 miles. Can you imagine the awkwardness? Also, how fast was I walking, and how slow were they pedaling? It seems the patrons were doing more “barring” than “biking”.

And, in conclusion, here’s a picture from yesterday’s journey. The one short spot where the Cultural Trail fails me.

cultural trail

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