I commute 9 miles to work.  I do it on the trike at least twice a week.  Other times I drive.  I like the feeling of being oil-independent, though, when I'm on the trike.  My commute is rather hilly.  My biggest climb, Coyote Street, is a 300 foot vertical gain.

  Rest stop on Coyote.  This picture was taken the day I forgot my flag, of course.  Catrike lists the pocket at 27 pounds, without pedals.  Accessorized with fenders, the Old Man Mountain rack, Radical panniers, NiteRider lights (minus the battery), Candy C pedals, 2 mirrors, 2 bottle cages, and an inflatable lumbar pillow, the trike weighs in at 36 pounds (unloaded, no fairing).

  The fairing is supposed to keep me warmer and drier than I would be without it.  I think it does a good job.  I've ridden in the cold and rain, and my feet have never been cold (or wet), that's for sure.

  The commute is mostly a very mellow part of my day.  The long, slow sections are very relaxing, mentally.  The brain is not occupied with staying balanced, and is free to wander.  Yet the descents are exhilarating.  The combination of mental relaxation, physical exertion, and pure adrenaline seems to stimulate poetic aspirations.  I keep a tiny voice recorder handy to capture the spew.

  The very first time I rode the trike, I located the world's best Kevlar-belt-puncturing device (pictured beside the flat tire; note the sharpened ends bent up vertically):