I’ve never messed with my face, but I hated the lines between my brows. So I decided to try the popular treatment at Artisan Beaute in Buckhead.

Atlanta is hilly and addicted to cars. But it’s a great place to ride a bicycle and is only getting better with more trails, more bike lanes, and more riders, proving that old car-dependent adage doesn’t have to last forever.

Like all cyclists in Atlanta, Black folks who ride bicycles are accustomed to irate car horns and hurled expletives. But it’s also not uncommon for them to receive a surprisingly warm reception—an encouraging gratitude that even the United States’ first cycling world champion, a Black man named Marshall “Major” Taylor, was denied during the height of his career at the turn of the 20th century.

When you outgrow riding in your neighborhood and on the well-trodden BeltLine, metro Atlanta presents a wealth of places to explore (or just get lost) on two wheels.

Long bike rides during the pandemic didn’t just introduce me to new spots or bring me closer with friends; they forced me to process how I could find the spaces in hardship where I could grow, get lost in thoughts about life, and reframe my challenges.

Can you ever feel comfortable letting children bike solo around a city with countless hills and roaring cars, one that’s still recovering from generations of autocentric planning? Is that traditional rite-of-passage still safe? Absolutely.