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Cycling
By toxicfur (Sun Jun 05, 2011 at 02:00:43 PM EST) (all tags)
I got my first bicycle when I was about 4, I think. We lived on Stevens Street, in a quiet residential neighborhood full of young pine trees. My bike was used, a tiny red bike with training wheels that my parents had bought from a neighbor whose four kids had outgrown it.


The day I learned to ride without training wheels was exhilarating. My mom held onto the seat, balancing me as I built momentum, and then I'd crash. Finally, legs pumping, I took off across the yard.

"You're doing it! You're doing it!" Mama called from where she stood, a half-smoked cigarette forgotten in her hand as she willed me to stay upright. I was thrilled - flying - across the yard, the wind in my short brown hair (these were the days before kids wore helmets, except the kids with the over-protective parents). My mom yelled something else that I didn't catch. I was intent on keeping the bike going as long as I could.

And then I stopped, suddenly and without warning. I had run into a pine tree. I popped up from the ground, confused and looked back at Mama. She was swallowing her laughter and wiping tears from her eyes.

"You have to steer!" she told me.

My family took lots of family bike rides when I was small. "Exploring," Mama called it, and we'd all get our bikes out and ride through the side streets of our tiny town, finding areas I didn't know existed, houses that belonged to long-dead relatives once upon a time. For my 7th birthday, I got a new bright blue girl's bike with a basket on the front. My dad showed me how to clip cards to the spokes. I pretended she was a horse called Bronco, the same horse who was my imaginary friend and who would come to eat the vegetables I didn't like (except green peas. Even Bronco didn't like green peas).

One lazy warm Sunday afternoon, my parents got out their matching dark green single-speed 70s-era bicycles with the child seats attached, strapped my young brothers into their seats, and we headed out. We were nearly home, coming by a different route than we used to. The road was wide and empty, the sun illuminating it with late afternoon summer light. I took off, urging my bike-horse faster and faster.

We didn't see that the road curved at a near 90-degree angle until it was too late. I knew better by this point than to try a quick, sharp turn - my torn jeans and bloodied and scabbed knees were reminders of my hard-gained knowledge. We went off the road and were, briefly, airborne. Flying.

And then we came down in a weeded-over, dry drainage ditch.

"Snakes," I thought to myself. "There are snakes in ditches." I grabbed my bike, heart pounding and dragged it out of the ditch, scrambling, expecting the snakes to pour out of the ditch in droves.

My parents were waiting at the curve in the road as I came out of the ditch. My mom was wiping tears from her eyes again, and shaking with laughter.

"You have to steer," she told me. "You didn't see the turn."

I was pissed, my little body shaking with anger. I was nearly dead from snakes, and Mama was laughing.

"The way your little head just popped up out of the weeds," she said, and convulsed again.

"There are snakes in ditches!" I told her, stamping my foot and holding Bronco close. "You said there are snakes in ditches."

"Probably not in that one," she said.

I was an outdoors kid, who liked to explore our yard, and I was welcome to turn over rocks, to find whatever I could wherever I could, except in the ditches. They were a temptation. I knew there would be very cool stuff in the ditches. I knew that if I could just get in there, I'd find any number of new species of wildlife. But the ditches were forbidden, and I'd felt the sting of the flyswatter on my bare thighs when I'd dared to trespass.

"Snakes live in ditches," Mama had said, again and again. "Snakes will bite, and they're poisonous. Stay. Out. Of. The. Ditch." Each word punctuated by a swat.

And here I was, barely escaping from the snake-filled ditch, and Mama was laughing.

When I was 10, for Christmas, I got a ten-speed. It was never named, but I lived on it. Christmas morning was unseasonably warm, and I dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and biked across town to Grandmama's house, my parents following closely in the wood-paneled station wagon.

I'm sure I had accidents on it, but for the most part, the bike stayed in the shed, collecting cobwebs and dust. The houses we lived in were not in good areas for biking, and I had gotten bored with riding in the yard many years before. The bike was no longer a horse - Bronco had stopped visiting, and I had to eat my own vegetables.

From then on, my bike was, simply, a form of transportation. It was a way to get from one place to another. My college bike got me to class, to the beach, to the mall, to the downtown shops and bars. My graduate school bike got me from a free parking lot to the campus and helped me avoid parking tickets.

The bike I borrowed from iGrrrl, a heavy, slightly too small bike, collected dust on my porch, when I decided that it wasn't worth it to bike the mile to the T.

And then I got my current bike, a Trek commuting bike I secretly call Binky, after Death's horse in the Discworld books. He's tall and lean, lightweight and faster than anything I've ridden since I was 7 years old. In my heart, as I pedal as hard as I can, urging Binky on, speeding down hills, barely remembering to steer, I am flying again.

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Cycles | 8 comments (8 topical, 0 hidden) | Trackback
+1FP - Bicycles by Herring (4.00 / 2) #1 Sun Jun 05, 2011 at 07:29:52 PM EST
This is what it is about.

Herring - Official HuSi diarist of the 2016 European Korfball Championship (October 22nd, Dordrecht, Netherlands)
Bicycles FTW! by toxicfur (4.00 / 1) #2 Sun Jun 05, 2011 at 10:16:03 PM EST
Thanks.
--
The amount of suck that you can put up with can be mind-boggling, but it only really hits you when it then ceases to suck. -- Kellnerin
[ Parent ]
My first ride by barooo (4.00 / 1) #3 Mon Jun 06, 2011 at 12:26:05 PM EST
away from the driveway was a near-disaster.

We rode to a nearby cemetary, about a mile away.  It has a very steep hill on the .  My dad and I walked our bikes to the top of the hill, since I didn't have the whole stand-on-the-pedals thing down and it was a single-speed bike.  We then went down the hill.

I immediately took my legs off the pedals and stuck them out to the sides.  The bike had coaster brakes.  I may have also taken my hands off the handlebars; I don't remember that but my dad swears I did.  Hell, I probably closed my eyes too.

The hill had a sharp curve at the bottom and a deep ditch on either side.  And trees.

The road was gravel.

Somehow, I made it without biffing.

I don't think I've ever taken the hill without braking since.  I literally just didn't realize you had to brake; I thought you braked to STOP, I didn't realize you needed to slow down from time to time.


man, i need a beefy taco now.
-gzt
There's a line by ana (4.00 / 1) #4 Mon Jun 06, 2011 at 01:31:09 PM EST
in a song by the band Girlyman that goes "Riding bikes before I learned about brakes..."

"And this ... is a piece of Synergy." --Kellnerin

[ Parent ]
You know... by toxicfur (2.00 / 0) #6 Mon Jun 06, 2011 at 03:18:36 PM EST
I really miss being that fearless. I get nervous when I get much above 20mph going down hills these days. When I was a kid, it never occurred to me that a fall would cause anything besides a skinned knee (which would heal quickly) or, in rare cases, potential snake attacks. Now I worry about broken bones, massive head trauma, and all sorts of other adult kinds of outcomes.
--
The amount of suck that you can put up with can be mind-boggling, but it only really hits you when it then ceases to suck. -- Kellnerin
[ Parent ]
As I've heard tell by Herring (4.00 / 1) #8 Mon Jun 06, 2011 at 03:38:29 PM EST
You slowly build up confidence at descending at speed. And then lose it quickly. And then build it back up again.

I've not had a high-speed off since I was a lad. I rarely exceed 40mph these days unless I'm pretty sure of the road. Or I'm in that sort of mood ...

Herring - Official HuSi diarist of the 2016 European Korfball Championship (October 22nd, Dordrecht, Netherlands)

[ Parent ]
VS2FP by riceowlguy (4.00 / 1) #5 Mon Jun 06, 2011 at 03:04:56 PM EST
I can write about bikes all day and make them seem boring, but this was awesome.

Thank you. by toxicfur (2.00 / 0) #7 Mon Jun 06, 2011 at 03:19:29 PM EST
I was an odd little kid, but that makes for some fun-to-tell stories now.
--
The amount of suck that you can put up with can be mind-boggling, but it only really hits you when it then ceases to suck. -- Kellnerin
[ Parent ]
Cycles | 8 comments (8 topical, 0 hidden) | Trackback