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| Not my actual bike. Mine did not have a speedometer. |
Today's somewhat embarrassing story is brought to you by 15-year-old me.
The other day my beautiful wife (sucking up to my editor never hurts!) and I got my daughter to bed around 8 pm (her normal bedtime) and were just kicking back, ready to chill for the rest of the night. Something was bothering me, though. I knew I was forgetting something, but I didn't know what it was. I needed to go out for some reason after my wife got off of work but couldn't remember why. Then it hit me. Earlier that day I had dropped my car off at the garage to get its annual inspection. I had returned when it was finished, paid and got my keys. This was all done while my wife was working and while using her car, so I couldn't drive both cars home by myself (well I could have, but it would have been complicated) and I figured I'd just have her drive me over later in the day. Unfortunately, I forgot, later in the day came and went, and I was not going to wake up my daughter to have my wife drop me off at the garage.
The solution to this dilemma was very simple, as my wife would suggest. She works out of our home, and our daycare is only a block from our house, so she really didn't need her car for anything. "Just take my car tomorrow and we'll pick up your car after we are both done with work," she said. Simple! Uncomplicated! But in the back of my mind, a plan of my own started to form.
I have been cursed with an overwhelming need to not inconvenience people. I am the type of person that, if someone is blocking the aisle in a grocery store, will turn around and go up a different aisle to get behind them, instead of just saying "excuse me". The thought of leaving my wife without a car was unacceptable. Different plans started bouncing around my head, but I quickly narrowed it down to two. The first was to get up really early and walk to the car. The place where the car was sitting was only about 3 miles away, so it wouldn't take me that long. I've walked further, and in worse conditions (i.e. winter) to get to work in the past. But I really didn't want to walk, especially when there was another option, the second plan.
My three older kids each have bicycles. I picked up two 10 speeds at a lawn sale last year for my oldest two, sprayed them down with WD-40 and my son and daughter have been happily riding them ever since. Besides the little test ride which totaled maybe 300 feet, I hadn't ridden either of the bikes. In fact, the last time I rode a bike of any sort for any distance had to be before I got my license when I was 17 years old. This would put it at about 25 years since I really road a bicycle, so of course, this was the plan that I decided to execute. I decided that I would get up at 4 am, ride my son's bike to the car, stuff the bike into the car and then drive to work. The plan was brilliant! What could possibly go wrong?
At this point I should disclose the fact that I did not mention anything about my intentions to my wife. If I had told her my ingenious plan, I'm sure she would have resorted to using underhanded tactics like logic and common sense to point out that my plan was absolutely ridiculous. She would have insisted that I just take her car and not to put myself through all the added stress. She would have been right, but I'd show her the brilliance of my plan!
After a not-so-great night of sleep, I jumped out of bed a little before 4 am, all ready to get my Lance Armstrong on (minus the doping). I grabbed my stuff and put it all in a little backpack, instead of using the classy Walmart bag that I usually carry my things around in, and headed out to the garage. I grabbed the bike, tested the brakes and the air pressure and walked it out to the road. I double checked a couple of times to make sure I had my car keys, which I did (forgetting my keys on top of everything else would have made this story epic). I said a prayer to the patron saint of bicycles (Pee Wee Herman?) and set out on my big adventure.
The weather was pleasant, there was no rain and the temperature was comfortable. I started peddling, made a couple of adjustments to the gears and continued peddling. I'd like to say I got a mile or two before the burn in my legs kicked in, but the truth is I traveled about 8 houses before the muscles in my leg said, "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" But, since I don't talk to my legs, I just ignored them. When I set my mind to something, especially something stupid like this bike ride, I am committed (or should be).
I peddled, and I peddled, muscles that have been dormant for 25 years protesting with every turn. When people try to convince others that they will not forget how to do something they haven't done in a long time they use the phrase "It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget." Oh, I forgot all right. I forgot that bicycling requires someone to be in at least a little bit of shape. I forgot that muscles that go unused for a long period of time don't just start working without any protest. I forgot that when you exert yourself, you sweat (and boy, did I sweat!).
I peddled, and peddled, almost praying that I would arrive at this little hill about half way to my destination. It became my goal. I'd hit that and I could just coast for a while... weeeeeee! Sweet relief from the peddling! Then, I got to the hill, and my brain said "Please try to remember, you paid $10 dollars for this bike. You shouldn't just open it up." I did listen to my brain in this case; it has kept me alive for many years and usually has much better advice than my legs -- usually (this whole bike ride being an example of when I shouldn't listen to my brain). I rode the brakes down the hill, so I didn't get quite as long of a respite as I was hoping, but it was a glorious 3 seconds of not-peddling.
The only problem with hills is the fact that if you go down a hill, you usually have to go up one. I peddled and peddled some more and I knew with a growing joy that my destination was almost at hand. Unfortunately, I also remembered that there were a couple of small hills ahead. As I approached the first one, I realized that it wasn't really a hill. I've seen handicapped entry ramps steeper than this "hill". I approached it, started thinking about building up some speed to "tackle" it but then just stopped the bike and got off. I walked it up. Pathetic, I know! I got to the "summit" and thought about just walking the rest of the way (or setting up a base camp, and trying to get up "K-2"--the second hill--the next day). I also decided that if I just walked the rest of the way to my car I was just going to toss my son's bike in the tall grass on the side of the road and pick it up on the way home. Digging deep into my resolve, I threw away the thoughts of abandoning the bike and pushed (literally) on.
I rode the bike about 30 feet until the second hill started. This one was a lot steeper than the first, but in the book of the world's steepest inclines, it would have not even been a footnote. I pushed the bike to the top, and saddled up again. I traveled across the road and through the Super Kmart parking lot, and there was the spot I parked the car... and it was there. (You thought I was going to say it was gone or something, didn't you?) I opened the hatchback, pushed the back seat down and stuffed the bike in. I fired up the car and headed down the street. My legs felt like jelly and the fact that it is a manual transmission meant working the clutch was fun, fun, fun. I took my sweaty shirt off and dangled it out the window, to try to dry it out some. I of course did not even think about bringing a change of clothes, but then again, with such a leisurely bicycle ride to my car, why would I even think I would need one?
I got to work. My shirt was pretty dry, and went into the bathroom and ran my head under the water. Of course, this was annoying due to the fact that the faucet is run off of a motion sensor so there was not a steady stream of water. I had made it to work by 4:53 am, so despite all the aches and pain, I was quite pleased with myself. My legs eventually stopped throbbing at some point during the day and I have to say, if this situation ever comes up again, I will just listen to my wife! 15-year-old me can take his banana-seat-riding, curly-handle-bar-using self and his bike (which was named Excalibur, I kid you not) and get lost! And Freddy Mercury, shut up! You may want to ride your bicycle, but I don't.
Those last few sentiments were brought to you by my legs.
