Biking

When I was younger, I used to do a lot of mountain biking. I loved it. Since I’m also a bit of a klutz, there was some crashing and falling involved. In those days, if there wasn’t some sweating and a little blood loss involved, I really didn’t think I was trying hard enough. It’s not like I was some crazed fanatic, out there on the edge of sanity. Nope, I just had a habit of decelerating through the use of trees, rocks and the ever present ground.

But, with the arrival of the kids, my mountain biking slowed dramatically, until it got to the point where I only pulled the old girl out when we went on vacations. I really didn’t mind this so much until my brother-in-law, who has everything, started taking it up. Then the old pride kicked in and I convinced myself it was time to get back on the bike, as it were, and relive the glory of my past.

That is, until, I refreshed myself with some of the finer points of gravity and wiped out in the bike store’s parking lot. Embarrassing? Sure was. Having my teen son there with me, bending over laughing, made that point loud and clear. I also realized that the monstrous road rash(s) and blood loss really didn’t have the same cache as they did 20 years before.

After eventually purchasing a bike, my-oh-so wonderful brother in law convinced me that I needed to have these clip peddles, instead of just the regular, normal peddles. Clips give you the advantage of not having to worry about your legs flailing around during a crash. Now, instead of your feeble attempt to stick your leg out to save your life, you’re guaranteed that the first items to hit the ground are your elbows, shoulders or your head. This has the advantage of saving your bike from any serious harm during the crash, so when the ambulance pulls away, some lucky bystander now has an almost perfectly new bike to scamper off with.

So, last night, I’m out for a little road ride when I have to cross this bridge a few miles from our house. It’s kind of a back road, so there really aren’t any shoulders on the road or the bridge. Just the road, guardrails, and the four lane expressway about 35 feet below. As I’m approaching the bridge, I’m starting to realize that it’s not wide enough for me and two cars passing at the same time. Something’s going to have to give, right? Right there, out on this beautiful night, I start freaking myself out. All I can imagine is someone racing up behind me, swerving to avoid oncoming traffic, knocking me over the guard, and as I fly off to my death, they are looking at my bike going “you know, that looks like it’s in pretty good condition…”