paragiraffe

When I was a kid in Massachusetts we used to ride bikes all the time, everywhere. It’s a lot different from Tennessee, where you pretty much have to get on an interstate to go anywhere (and, obviously, in a car). Looking back, I think getting your first bike is a little like getting your first car or moving out of the house—freedom. I remember learning to ride a two-wheeler in the parking lot of my elementary school (Leroy L. Wood School, Fairhaven). That bike was purple and had a banana seat.

Just last weekend, Dad and I were telling Audra about Christmases in Massachusetts, because she was too young to remember. One of the best ones was when we all got new bikes and snow saucers. That bike was purple and pink and had the old school curvy handlebars, which was strange even then because mountain bikes were already the norm. I had wanted that bike for forever (or so it seemed). Thanks, Santa.

Also last weekend, I bought an adult bike, because who am I to say no to more exercise? It’s nothing particularly special, it wasn’t that expensive, but it’s a pretty shade of maroon, has chunky mountain bike tires, and has shocks on the front so I can take it off some “sweet jumps.” I even got a bike rack for transportation, but that makes me look like a serious biker or something, so most of the time it stays in my trunk.

When we were at the store, I pulled the bike out into the aisle and sat on it, attempting to find my balance. “Hmm… I haven’t ridden a bike in years, ” I mused. “I hope it’s like riding a bike.”

---