it rained on me. a lot. but look at that fresh air biker girl glow.
i was going to postpone day one of my new life as a 'person who rides her bike everywhere.' it was a little chilly and a lot windy, and there are still all these hills taunting my retired male soccer player thighs. but less than a mile into my short half-assed quasimoto immitation of a run i started wondering why i was wearing a stocking cap. and a few blocks later i hawked a pretty meaty luggie and took off my sweatshirt. and that's when i knew that it wasn't too cold and it wasn't too windy and that these were gateway excuses leading to: yowch, i have cramps and ride my bike? not with this hangnail.
today, bydammit, would be the day i turn into 'a person who rides her bike everywhere.' or else seven weeks would pass, then four months, and all of a sudden i'd instead be 'a person who keeps an unused bike in the back hallway.' and while i seemingly am a person who likes to take paper money and set it free in the wild, i hated thinking i'd pay 175 dollars per perch on that cushioned cattle-skull shaped seat.
so i went out riding.
at my first stop, i spent fifteen minutes trying to understand how to fasten my ride to a new age bike rack. when i last owned a bike, it was still possible to just chain your front wheel to a stump. things are more complicated now. they tell me this technique is basically a 'take one free' sign for anyone with a wrench, 3 spare minutes and an open space in the bed of their pickup truck. but i felt confident and boy scouty in the weave of my lock, and left my bike unintended for a half hour before my psychic tendencies cawed like a smoke detector. i walked outside, and lifted my bike right off the thing i thought i'd attached it to. the lock coiled around the frame like a severed tendon. i'd done nothing more than create the illusion that my bike was locked up.
i ran into the norwegian wonder who asked if i'd gotten a helmet yet. i kicked a rock, stammered and said no. she looked at me like i'd just told her that norway had given itself to sweden as a søttende mai gift. i bet she is a real good mom. then my friend dojo told me about the guy who got 97 stitches in his skull and all the while 'brain bucket, brain bucket, brain bucket' was repeating and rerepeating in my head. i started wishing starbucks sold grande helmets.
and then it started to rain. and rain and rain and rain. and soon i couldn't wait it out any longer. the norwegian wonder offered me a ride home; chuck texted to see if i was stranded. "once you're wet, you're wet," dojo reasoned. i am a blogger, i rationalized, a blogger who sometimes does things just to write about it later. so i did like 'a person who rides her bike everywhere' would do, and i rode a few miles home.
it was pretty nice. refreshing even. i did get wet. i'm sure that if my front tire had flung a puffy earth worm in my face, like i half expected, my career as a 'person who rides her bike everywhere' would have ended with me in a taxi and the shiny blue giant cypress in the bushes.