“Ah Ha,” he says, sipping his first coffee of the day. Later he remarks, “I saw it in the garage. It’s nice.”
“It was on sale.” Didn’t I say that already? Duh!
My husband is working afternoons so I decided it was time to set my wheels in motion and take that bike out for a spin (I’m not quite at the comfort zone to step up to the pedals with my husband looking on). I hop on, riding the brake down the driveway and turn left. Best to stay on our street and go around the crescent – little traffic, few prying eyes. It was exhilarating, but scary. And I’m thinking, “Really, how do I look riding this thing? Do people think I’m nuts?”
So, as any writer would do, I posted about my new purchase on Facebook. My friends were supportive but also concerned.
“Do you have a helmet?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t get one.”
“Do it,” several say, and others click on the LIKE button…one, two…let’s just say “several times.”
The next day I go to Canadian Tire. I try on helmets. There are no mirrors. I take one out of my purse, put it on the shelf and try a helmet on. A young kid walks by and whistles. I’m mortified. I grab two helmets and head to the isle with large mirrors. I try them on again. I settle on one that’s within my price point and fits snugly. I also buy two lights for the bike (for night riding and turn signals) and an odometer/speedometer that tracks 18 things in total.
Later that evening I gingerly take the bike out of the garage. My neighbour and her daughter are in their backyard and see me.
“Hey! What’s that?” they ask.
“I bought a bike,” I say proudly.
“So where’s your helmet?” the mother asks.
“I, uh, will wear it next time.”
“Okay” she says, adding her typical droll, drop-dead sense of humour, “just don’t expect me to be feeding you gruel out of a straw,” and she makes that sideways face to show what she means. I can’t help laughing because she’s funny, but she’s probably right. I will get up the nerve to put it on tomorrow. I wave goodbye and head out.
I decide to take a longer ride this time, so I go down every crescent on each street, still staying in my cozy subdivision with little traffic. The sound of a car approaching gives me goose bumps. I slow down at the stop signs and look both ways. No one coming, I make my turn.
Then it happens. I come to a stop sign and hear a car. It’s moving to fast. I can’t race it. I’m going to have to stop. Remember, my stops aren’t pristine (as I pointed out in my previous blog). This one’s a disaster. I hit the brake, drop my left foot to the ground and the bike topples.
A young couple is standing nearby with their kids in tow. The woman has a looks worried. “Are you alright?” she asks with genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. But I’m not. I’ve got a scraped knee and a bruised ego.
I head home slowly and park my bike back in the garage.
More to come…