Saturday Morning Bikeride

Today is the first sunny day in many. This summer has been an unexpectedly cool and rainy one, so when I woke up early and discovered that it was a comfortable 72 degrees and sunny, I decided to go for a ride on my new bike.

I love my new bike. I got it used and it's the color of a perfectly ripened Concorde grape. This is my first bike since I was a kid. A very small kid. I don't ever remember riding bikes when I was young; I guess it just didn't interest me all that much after I learned how. This inexperience on two wheeled vehicles has left me a novice on the path.

Out I went this morning clad in my long Prana shorts (a lesson I learned after my first ride on my new bike), tank top, Chaco's, helmet, house keys, sparkly sunglasses, and sturdy bike lock, having to carry my bike down the three flights of stairs I live up. I had to bring the bike up to my apartment last time because the apartment complex "bike rack" holds approximately five bikes and is always full (imagine that). Finally, I arrive at the bottom of the stairs after getting thunk, thunk, thunked in the head by the handlebars which swing over me as I carry my bike own those three treacherous flights of declining cement blocks.

The bike path is across the street from my apartment, so it works out well for me not having to interact much with the cars. The cars are my nemesis. (Peddle faster!) As is approach the trail I am thankful not to see any bikers or people walking; I am their nemesis, a novice biker on the path. Just as I am getting a bit too comfortable I see it: bikers. Experienced ones. They wear neon colored Lycra suits, winged helmets, and gloves. Their sunglasses wrap around their faces like a hungry boa constrictor wraps around its prey, and their shoes buckle into their peddles: a very aerodynamic outfit. Who knew it was biker hour, walking hour, jogging hour, walk your dog hour, and stand on the bike path hour. Holy shit.

A herd of bikers on the left. I go right to avoid the flock. Safe, I breathe inhaling and exhaling, both through my nose, a technique I learned in yoga but that now comes naturally when I exercise. My next challenge is near. Up ahead around the glistening lake, I see a man walking his dog on the left following a biker. On the right side of the path I see more bikers and a runner. How will I conquer this feat? I maneuver my bike almost gracefully between them. On and on this goes, proving to be a pattern: Herd of bikers, maze of the outdoor enthusiasts, herd of bikers. I start to peddle faster and begin to breathe through my mouth. I notice immediately that when I do this my legs start to burn. I change my breath to enter and exit through my nose once again and the tiredness in my muscles subsides.

On my way back after the grueling ride, I slow towards the intersection hoping, nearly praying to be the only biker crossing at that moment. My brakes sound like nails on a chalkboard, as they are too close to the wheels. Just then, my hopes were interrupted by a biker behind me and another across the intersection coming my way. I wait for the illuminated image of the person walking on the post opposite me. As I wait, the other bikers peddle across to where they are headed. The biker behind me goes around me, embarrassed, I peddle on clumsily after.

I arrive back at my apartment, thinking surely there would be a space in the "bike rack" being it biker hour and all, so I use my key to open the three gate doors it takes me to get there, winding around enclosed sidewalk, adorned with all the accessories I left my house in. The rack is right next to my mailbox, so I decided to get my mail while I was there. I had lots of mail for some reason. Mail, helmet, and bike lock in hand I realize there is no space for my bike no matter how much I attempt to manipulate the situation. Awesome. I will have to now carry my bike up the three flights of inclining cement blocks, handle bars thunk, thunk, thunking me in the head. I arrive back at my apartment thankful for the first sunny day in many.