Biking is his Weapon of Choice
It was a perfect day. The birds were singing while perched atop their favorite branch, as gentle breezes swayed them back and forth. The puffy clouds danced above forming various animal designs.
That’s what I dreamed while gazing out my kitchen window. Then I noticed the temperature gauge and 99 degrees barked in my face. Mother Nature wasn’t messing around.
I’m not sure how I got hoodwinked into taking a bicycle ride at high noon. I didn’t owe my husband anything. My mental capacity wasn’t diminished. But somehow I was persuaded it was a grand idea. Obviously, my husband is trying to kill me.
There was one slight problem. I don’t know how to ride a bike anymore. The idiot who said riding a bike is “just like riding a bike” had obviously never met me.
When I was a child, however, I had my blue bike with a silver-striped banana seat. Every Fourth of July, I would decorate it with streamers and playing cards in the spokes for our annual parade.
I even rode my bike delivering newspapers when I was older. I’m fairly certain it takes balance and skill, so at one time I was adept at pedaling and coasting downhill.
Until I met my husband, I hadn’t thought about owning another bike. Why would I need one of those when I had a car and legs?
I’m a walker. I enjoy watching the scenery as I stroll along. When my friends and I were training for a walking marathon many moons ago, we probably covered every trail in the metro.
Bicyclists would come blazing down the trail from behind and yell out, “On the left!” After jumping out of our skin, we would roll our young eyes and titter about bikers who were whizzing by nature’s beauty.
This was about the time I started dating my husband. While I was training for the marathon, he was training for the Bike MS 150. Apparently, this bike event is a big deal and not just an opportunity to wear tight shiny shorts in public.
So the other day, when wearing some of my husband’s shiny non-breathable clothing and had a strangling helmet strapped on, I realized there was no turning back. A bike ride was in my immediate future because in his own sweet way, my husband was trying to kill me.
Word to the wise: if you are getting basic instructions on operating bike gears before getting on a trailhead, you might not be a biker.
Needless to say, I never got the whole “gear” thing down. There were several times when the chain hopped off the bike to mock me, leaving me at bottoms of hills pedaling slowly to nowhere. I was going downhill quickly on an incline.
That’s when it happened. I decided my husband was plotting to kill me. Shouting ahead, I inquired if he’d made any changes to our life insurance policy. Perhaps he found some woman to raise our children. A younger version of me, but not funny and a bad cook, who loved biking, worked at a bike store so she got a great discount on shiny apparel, and had a bell on her handle bar to warn those pesky walkers.
My impending need to vomit didn’t come from those wild thoughts. Spinning my wheels in the near 100-degree weather was what nearly drove me to the ER. Heat exhaustion is a nasty beast and I strongly advise against it.
Per my request, my loving husband left me alone on a curb to rest and drink water. As he raced home to get the minivan to pick up his red-faced, nauseated wife, I dramatically texted friends to say my goodbyes – just in case I died on the curb.
Thankfully, I was wrong. My husband wasn’t trying to kill me. That gives a lady a boost in confidence! But it will be a long while before I hop on a bike.
If God wanted people to ride bikes, we would have wheels instead of feet.
It’s my theory and I’m sticking with it.
Are you a biker or Walker/Runner? Or can you be both?