Halfway through my third year of college, almost ready to escape back into the real world of motorized vehicles, I made a fatal mistake. I decided I needed to date, so I found a cute guy and convinced him to ask me out. I just thought he'd offer interesting conversation and some fun. Little did I realize how he would affect the rest of my life.
Over several months we went on dates. We danced, watched movies, ate out, talked about our views on life. Then one day upon entering his apartment, I was thrown back into the bicycle zone. There in the front room closet stood a large blue and yellow bike. To my untrained eyes, it appeared to be a basic hundred dollar ten speed. Oh how wrong I was.
Before me stood a Trek bicycle outfitted with Shimano componentry and a whole bunch of other expensive metal things made in Taiwan or Japan or some other foreign country across the Pacific. All those fancy things brought the cost of this fancy steel pretzel to around a $500 price tag. (Which would be a pretty good deal these days for the same type of bike.)
"A cheap bike," I was informed. Right there in that alleged coat closet stood my boyfriend's best friend, his bike. And I was introduced to one of his life passions.
Outwardly I took the news valiantly, but inwardly a part of me cringed in fear and cried out in pain and remorse. "Biking?!?," it wailed. "How stupid can you be! Hundreds of cute guys on this campus, and you fall in love with the one who would rather bike than eat. (Later I learned he would rather hike, than bike, but that is a story for another time.)
I smiled, gulped, and agreed that he owned a beautiful bike.
"We'll have to borrow a bike for you to ride," he exclaimed happily.
"Yes, we'll have to do that," I replied wishing fervently that somehow he would forget. (He never forgets I have learned.)
On a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, greatly resembling the fateful day when I had first wrecked on a bike, he suggested a short ride.
"We'll just go to the mall," he said.
"Okay," I thought to myself, " you can do this. They say you can't forget how to ride a bike." Yet deep in my heart, I knew that if anyone could forget, it would be me today.
Sensing my nervousness, he explained, " I can lower the seat."
"Oh that will help a lot!" I thought hopelessly. Yet only a calm, "I think that is a good idea," escaped my lips.
The mechanical adjustments didn't take long enough to sooth my troubled thoughts,. I wanted to run back to my apartment and hide. Still I knew I'd better just take a deep breath and go for it, so I climbed on the beast and off we went.
The ride started well. by some miracle, I could still manage to balance and pedal. Then a stop sign came into view and suddenly my heart raced back to its terrorized rhythm. Brakes! I'd forgotten about those weird brakes.
The brakes on this monster were mounted on the handlebars, in a spot conveniently out of the reach of my hands. The location of the brakes wasn't by only problem. I really liked this boy, like wanted to marry him liked him, so I didn't want him to realize how scared I really was by his hobby. So, nonchalantly, I inched my hands along the taped handlebars, reaching the brake levers moments before my fragile body sped into the intersection. Grasp9ing the slender silver bars, I pulled and nearly flew over the handlebars into the oncoming car.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine," I smiled, willing my heart rate to stop making the world bounce around me.
At the next intersection I pulled more gently, and gradually costed to a stop.
""Maybe I can do this," I thought.
On we rode, and inch after inch, we came closer to our destination. Finally I rolled into the parking lot and following his lead, wove my way towards the bike racks. I rounded a corner and panicked. There was the rack. My mind went blank. How did one stop this thing?!?!?
Back pedaling madly, I careened toward the metal structure and my date. Abandoning all grace and finesse, my feet shot to the ground, and I stopped inches before catastrophe.
"Old habit," I shrugged at him thanking my lucky stars that the toes of my shoes grazed the ground despited the tremendous height of the beast.
Carefully I dismounted and watched him lock up the metal monsters. Then I gratefully turned toward the mall and tried to block out the thought of getting myself and all that metal back to the apartment in one piece.
As he unlocked the bikes to return, I considered the ride home. "Well if I don't die at the light on Tenth Avenue, I'll be all set because the rest of the trip is uphill, and I surely won't have to brake," I consoled myself silently.
I made it through he light safely and was right about the rest of the ride. I didn't have to brake. Instead I almost died of exhaustion pedaling up the hills. When I finally staggered into his apartment, I flopped on the couch and started offering unspoken prayers of thanksgiving.
Then out of the haze surrounding me, I heard, "Wasn't that a fun ride? We should go on a longer one next week."
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