That is to say that when I got home I ventured into the garage to reacquaint myself with my car, and there crowding my car was--
I hate bicycles. I hate riding bicycles. The wind is always in one's face. One's body is held at an awkward pose--bad for the lungs they say. And one is at the motorists who may or may not respect your right to be there. I am one of those hostile motorists--
The last time I rode a bike I was twenty-five, and my husband at the time and I seemed to think riding expensive, very thin bikes for excessive amounts of miles was a cool way to spend time. So, one day we decided to ride our bikes from Pasadena to Newport Beach. This is one hell of a long jaunt, and involved riding through bleak parts of town usually viewed from the freeway. It was hot. It was asphalt and diesel exhaust. It was no stopping for lunch. After a very long time, we made it. I vowed I'd never get on a bike again.
I've kept that vow.
I hate the insane recreational bicyclists of today, the Lance Armstrong look-alikes. I especially hate the spandex outfits they wear, their teeny rear ends waving in the air from the ridiculous posture they assume. I hate the way they suck on straws while pedaling madly. I hate the ones who seem to feel the best time of day for a spin is rush hour, or worse yet, are oblivious to the existence of such a thing as rush hour--
I could go on, but I won't.
Riding for FUN?
There are those who do get on a bike to toddle from one block to the next. Or perhaps to take a little spin around the neighborhood for that touch of fresh air. The kind who wear regular clothes while biking, like sandals and dresses. I've seen them. Usually they are kids. But lately I am seeing a lot more of the kind I am, the...er older woman, newly freed from being serious by virtue of her last birthday, and our spiritual advisers assuring us that NOW is the best time of our lives.
I see these women out on bikes...their bikes looking suspiciously like the one that now sits in my garage.
When I was a kid, of course I adored my bike. My bike was power, freedom, and a fine companion. We went all over the place--
That's right. My bike was my boon companion, even when I moved to Brussels and had to learn how to negotiate cobblestones on it--
Riding a bike under those circumstances, as in gentle recreation, isn't bad, I seem to recall. Then the wind isn't beating one's face up. No, it's a gentle breeze in one's face. One is hearkening back to gentler times--
Hmmm. A little spin around the neighborhood? Maybe with my camera in my pocket? Maybe a small pedal up to Main Street for some ice cream? Now that would just be darn cute, wouldn't it?