This morning all the kids went to their respective camps or grandparents, and I was faced with a chunk of uninterrupted time where I could write, possibly do some laundry, or try to bring my home closer to the Martha Stewart vision in my head, as opposed to the frat house that is our reality.
So I rode my bike. Now, when I say “My Bike”, you have to think it like PeeWee Herman says it. I won’t ride it to Starbucks, because I haven’t figured out the lock yet and I just know if I leave it untended, some crazed soccer mom will throw it in the back of her Suburban and peel out, cackling with glee.
Here she is, in all her glory:
As Rox’s husband says, “Hmmm. I would not ride with you.” That’s the point! It’s a girl bike, all right. I’ve avoided getting any kind of bike trailer to put offspring in, because there’s something about taking off on and flying down a hill unencumbered that puts me right back in my ten year old mind. The year my boundaries increased, and I was allowed off our street and down the big hill. Every time I felt my tire bump over a crack, I’d worry that I’d broken my mother’s back. Then I’d be seized by a dizzy feeling of simultaneous omnipotence and remorse.
Today was breezy, but already hot. The wet blanket humidity that Maryland’s known for won’t descend until July, so I was free to careen down hills without feeling like I was in a steam bath. I don’t like when there’s a cross street right at the bottom of a hill, and you have to stop and lose all your momentum.
As a child, it was amazing to have the freedom to just get on my bike and go somewhere, anywhere, nowhere. As an adult, I have to really push myself to have permission to just go somewhere, anywhere, nowhere. To just be in the world for half an hour, supported by a flower saddle with no particular destination in mind. To let go of the never ending to do list and do something just because I want to, because it’s…Fun? Huh. Feels weird, but spectacular.
Most bikers I see in my neighborhood are very serious looking…aerodynamic, like greyhounds, hunched over their handlebars pedalling like they mean it. While I respect that level of dedication, I’m having a good time rocking my Jan Brady bike.
What throws you right back into your childhood?
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