2010 Blogs
I remember my first bike. I remember watching “Batman” with my brother, him trying to keep me enthralled in the movie, pacified with buttery popcorn and a glass of milk. I loved milk. Meanwhile my mom and dad were building my new wheels in the driveway. However, it probably went more along the lines of my dad, the engineer carefully scanning the instructions word for word, ensuring every nut and bolt was included and tightened and tightened a second time, while my mom attempted to holster her patience, going more the trial and error route of bicycle building. I remember having a hunch of what was going on. It was my birthday and mom, dad, and Dan were all grinning at me that morning; the sort of grin that reads “I know something you don’t know, and what you don’t know you’re going to like.” A pink and turquoise speckled Huffy. It was a girl’s frame and it had one of those foam pieces that strapped onto the top tube…I wish I had that on my cyclocross bike now. The training wheels were in a league of their own, full-on durable plastic, like miniature disc wheels.
Bike porn? I think I liked to look at it more than I liked to ride it. I struggle with the same problem today. Heck it even had a matching turquoise seat (notice I use the word seat, not saddle). Oh yes, the grips were white…from bike 1 to bike 837 I vow to don it with white grips or tape. At the very least, not black…unless I go through a Batman stage.
I remember going to a potluck dinner at some friends’ of ours. Their yard was massive, making our 9 acres seem quite small and limited. They had ponds and trails and pools and tennis courts and big rocks and gardens and woods. So while the adults were drinking tasty beverages and while my brother went off with the ‘big kids’, me and my Huffy had some alone time. Somehow I’m always out of place. Dan was head over heels into mountain biking and all I wanted to be when I grew up was like my brother. Even today when I ask myself what I want to be when I grow up, I think it’d be pretty cool to be like him – all smart and edumicated and in love and happy. It’s a good place to be.
I remember the downhill. I remember out white Toyota pick-up parked at the bottom of this downhill. I remember being scared but wanting to be brave. I remember careening down this downhill, my training wheels knackering against little roots and rocks. You see, the job of training wheels is to keep a kid upright, but I believe in this memory the training wheels were detrimental. Our truck stopped me, ending the horribly technical downhill, but beginning my inner fight off of tears.
What I was most scared of was the turquoise streak I had left on our white truck. There was no way I could fess up to the damage I had done to our pristine pick-up. Therefore there was no way I could cry in front of my parents. I thought I needed stitches from the grass stains on my knees and elbows, I was scared from the trauma of such a steep and technical trail, I had destroyed our hotrod, my mom was going to have to wash my riding attire, and clearly I had whiplash and a concussion from hitting the treasured vehicle at mach schnell. All that and I couldn’t cry.
Bike porn? I think I liked to look at it more than I liked to ride it. I struggle with the same problem today. Heck it even had a matching turquoise seat (notice I use the word seat, not saddle). Oh yes, the grips were white…from bike 1 to bike 837 I vow to don it with white grips or tape. At the very least, not black…unless I go through a Batman stage.
I remember going to a potluck dinner at some friends’ of ours. Their yard was massive, making our 9 acres seem quite small and limited. They had ponds and trails and pools and tennis courts and big rocks and gardens and woods. So while the adults were drinking tasty beverages and while my brother went off with the ‘big kids’, me and my Huffy had some alone time. Somehow I’m always out of place. Dan was head over heels into mountain biking and all I wanted to be when I grew up was like my brother. Even today when I ask myself what I want to be when I grow up, I think it’d be pretty cool to be like him – all smart and edumicated and in love and happy. It’s a good place to be.
I remember the downhill. I remember out white Toyota pick-up parked at the bottom of this downhill. I remember being scared but wanting to be brave. I remember careening down this downhill, my training wheels knackering against little roots and rocks. You see, the job of training wheels is to keep a kid upright, but I believe in this memory the training wheels were detrimental. Our truck stopped me, ending the horribly technical downhill, but beginning my inner fight off of tears.
What I was most scared of was the turquoise streak I had left on our white truck. There was no way I could fess up to the damage I had done to our pristine pick-up. Therefore there was no way I could cry in front of my parents. I thought I needed stitches from the grass stains on my knees and elbows, I was scared from the trauma of such a steep and technical trail, I had destroyed our hotrod, my mom was going to have to wash my riding attire, and clearly I had whiplash and a concussion from hitting the treasured vehicle at mach schnell. All that and I couldn’t cry.