»In which I protect the noggin

The fate of my last four helmets: one stolen from a northbound Caltrain; one cracked (sun? accident? who knows); one stolen along with the Dutchess et al.; one has the styrofoam peeling away from the shell. Time for new noggin insurance. I got a (couple: always have a spare, for guests or in case of larceny) of new helmet(s), and promptly received a compliment as I was pedalling furiously down Market St. Really: a man waiting for an inbound bus on one of the centre islands yelled something at me, and I slowed to hear him repeat the "Nice helmet, man!" with a sincerity that surprised me.