Yesterday I rode my Christmas bike for the first time. I had a blast. I was by myself in a little walking park adjacent to a local dam. No one was there and the section I rode was blocked off to vehicle traffic.
Things I learned:
- I need to adjust my seat. That will happen before next week.
- I am not good enough to ride and selfie at the same time (no wreck but fuck a scare).
- Learning gears all over is no fun but I will get the hang of it.
- Sidewalks with uneven squares, where one drops two inches below the next, can create a sudden stop if not prepared.
- I was able to put the bike on the rack myself, fasten properly and traverse there and back. It did not fall off. That was my greatest fear. Well, that and being embarrassed that I would look like an idiot.
It has been (at least) 23 years since the last time I actually rode a bike. I rode like a little kid who just dumped his training wheels. It was sunny and beautiful and I was a kid again. I am hooked. One rotation under my belt, next week I will take it to Huntington and ride around the lake with other people there. And then she will be my buddy during camping season. Husband is going to create a bike rack for the back of the camper for me. I am utterly stoked about the situation.
Last night I slept the deepest sleep I can remember in YEARS. Maybe it was the bike, the relaxation and remembering of childhood frivolity. Maybe it was the half a Corona and the huge Fajita plate at Las Trancas. I don’t know but crash I did. Somewhere in the middle of the night I had a nightmare of monstrous proportions. I dreamed of Dr Frankenstein in the lab, sewing away on his creation. Only, from my perspective, the monster was me. I looked to my shoulder where there was no arm and watched as he attached a limb that was not my own. I watched as he sewed each stitch, so carefully, so purposeful. And then, once it was done, the pain set in holy fuck the pain! My shoulders were alive with pain. That is when I woke up and realized – my shoulders are sore as all get out from a mere three miles of biking. Holy hell.
It gets easier.
But I am not a patient person.
I think I will call her Purple People Eater.
Categories: Personal History / My Own Words