Not quite Bikemistress yet

So, I managed to forget how to ride a bike. No, it is not like sex, because with sex, if you aren't quite sure what to do or you're tired or confused you can kind of lie there. You moan, you wiggle, and your partner drives. No one ends up in the ER.

Don't panic, I'm still on LJ so obviously nothing critical occurred.

I entitle this episode In Communist Russia, the Bike rides YOU!

First there's getting my bike out of the apartment. I had forgotten how damn tenacious the fuckers are about backing up in a straight line. Oh no! The front wheel flops all out of control. I suddenly remember that I always maneuvered to face the direction I was going to wheel the bike in. Unfortunately this is not an option in the kitchen. Second, I could use upper body strength psychic power to elevate the front of the bike so only the back wheel touches the floor. Laugh with me now.

I fight and silently cuss my way to the door. Angling around the door and backing into the hall was a sequence from a Marks Brother's movie. Getting down the stairs, I was laughing at all the people who claim bikers have to work on their upper body strength to balance out. Now, maybe those bad boys and girls are on titanium and not my built for comfort not for speed road sled, but lifting and carrying a bike down stairs is a challenge. Figuring out where to hold the bike so you can open doors is another challenge.

At the curb, I set my bike into the street and triumphantly swing my leg over the frame and plop my butt in place. My feet are on tip toe and there's a sudden breakdown between my brain and my feet. How do you get your feet on the pedals without falling over again? On try five, I've got it again. And no one saw me so there's no shame, either. It's been almost (no actually!) over a decade.

Coasting down what I previously believed was a gentle hill, it occurred to me that I couldn't have forgotten how to use hand brakes since I've never had them before. That whispering breeze caressing my face is suddenly a violent wind warning me that I don't know how to stop at the bottom of this hill, and OH LOOK, THAT'S A CAR!

Tapping the right hand break, I fiddle with the gear shift on the handle bars and awkwardly up shift into almost another gear. I manage to slow down to a stop and pull to the curb. I fuss with the gears a bit for show, then I have to remember this foot to pedal thing.

Turning, I start going up a mild incline. I quickly discover that I *can* figure out the gear shift while moving. The hill gets progressively steeper. A block from home, I have to get off and walk. My bike tries to roll down the hill while I am performing this operation. I'm panting, I'm winded and sweaty and my heart is pounding. In ten minutes, I covered the same amount of land that takes maybe 30 minutes to stroll around.

I stop at the foot of the stairs to rest and a kind neighbor offers to help me with my bike. She looks at least a decade older than me. I'm not too proud to ask for help, but I wanted to do this inaugural ride correctly. She shakes her head, looking at me, and adds "If you're sure now..." in a dubious voice. I firmly say no thank you ma'am, which is the end of that discussion. (You southerners know what I mean. When you throw down that lacy gauntlet, the final "ma'am," it's case closed and class dismissed.)

I steel myself and use an old trick I learned in the Army. Without letting myself think about it more, I count backwards from three and just do it. I get the bike up to the landing and am almost knocked over by my neighbor's son. He is in his late teens. He apologizes profusely about rushing downstairs and I can feel his momma giving him a look over my back, like "Can't you see that poor woman done wore herself out and now she's going to think you have NO MANNERS!"

*Blush*

I jostle the bike upstairs and open the door, grateful that I didn't lock it. I'm suddenly ten minutes past ready to sleep and giddy with the thought of how much work I need to get in shape for a single ride.

I have now spent approximately three times as long describing this ride as I did actually experiencing it.

If I spent 1/3 as much time on my bike as I did glorifying myself on the internet, I'd be an Olympic athlete.