I have a confession to make. I am, right now, as I'm writing, incapable of practically utilizing a bicycle.
In other words, my past attempts to bike ride have generated a public hazard, dangerous towards myself and others. An objective observer with some insider knowledge should find this incredulous; I am not generally uncoordinated, and have tackled many an uneven and poorly maintained pavement with a pair of Missions strapped to my feet.
The last time I made the attempt was to speed up my commute from my place deep in Douglass College in New Brunswick over the Raritan River into Highland Park. I had my mother's pretty red thin-tired eurobike, and I was strangely optimistic. You see, bike riding was just something I never picked up on as a child. The few times I was coerced by my parents into giving it a shot, invariably ended either in frustration and abandonment, or an embarrassing and slightly traumatic crash. My parents (my father really) stopped pushing the issue, and I was more than happy to leave it in the garage.
It was six years ago when I tried, and suffice to say, I gave up rather quickly. The section of town I was riding in wasn't exactly flat, five seconds in I had zero confidence, and never really mastered turning or riding in narrow areas. Wound up walking that thing a good mile and a half there, then another two back.
Tomorrow, for about eight bucks, I can rent one from a new shop that opened downtown, and I'm going to give it another shot. There's no reason to think this attempt will be different from the last, but no reason to think it won't be. My feet, hands, and inner ear are a blank canvas that lacks muscle memory, but my heart, head, and kneecaps that are ready to throw down. You hear that bicycle? I'm coming for you.
Besides, I have a pretty good teacher this time.
There may or may not be pictures. No promises.
Pic courtesy RUR and MKZ
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