5 posts tagged “bike”
It’s been two weeks since the kidney biopsy and even more since I last rode my bike, but finally, after a long weekend out of town with friends, I’m back in the banana seat again. Well, maybe not a banana seat but just the standard uncomfortable ten speed butt pad.
And the sore legs, short breath, and utter fear feel great. With the diagnosis of a very mild IGA nephropathy behind me, I’ve put to rest one of the many retarded problems I’m facing this year. And as the exercise evaporates the stress of life, I’m beginning to feel whole again.
So as I recondition my body and dodge tons of emotionally charged steel in the morning and evening treks, I can admit life is good. That is, life is good if you ask me shortly after the ride home when I’m high on endorphins.
So, this morning’s ride was wrought with danger. I don’t know why.
Maybe I have my own male ego to blame. Just as I started down Franklin Street this morning, another male biker, the shiny corporate kind, sped past me, the click click of his gears switching in rapid succession sounding as he effortlessly glided further and further away from me. My gears, on the other hand, are always slipping into the hardest one to peddle.
As I watched him disappear into the horizon, I pumped my legs faster and lost all sense of caution. Then I caught out of the corner of my eye a large black SUV crossing the four lane road with a timing that put me right in front of it’s silver grill at the most inconvenient moment. I slammed on my brakes.
Whether she had been aware of me before or not, I can’t say for sure, but the silver headed woman stopped her vehicle in the middle of the road and waved her boney hands in a gesture that beckoned me to continue. Stuck in high gear and with much effort I peddled on.
And then there was the green light that, at the exact moment I swerved into the middle of the lane and resolved to speed through it, changed to yellow and then to red. Bikes do not travel as fast as cars, and I forget this often. The light had been red for much too long before I wearily rode through the intersection eyeballing the waiting cars.
Shortly after that, my adrenaline racing, a tractor-trailer started backing into a plastics plant. I maneuvered to the front of it and into oncoming traffic when I realized there was a car coming from the opposite direction. I slammed on the breaks. I waited and waited feeling the hatred of all the drivers I had pissed off for the last few blocks as they too waited behind me. As the truck pulled back and then forward, I made my move circling around the back of it and hoping to escape my shame.
But the accident happened before any of this. As I was approaching an intersection, I glanced over my shoulder to check for turning cars and to keep tabs on another male corporate biker who had been behind me for a block. My bike traveling at a good clip, as I turned back around my right eye made contact with a very stiff tree branch. I came to an abrupt halt.
Being single now, I’ve felt more of an urge to compete. I can’t help. It’s innate, but I think it might kill me soon.
My route starts by gently climbing a large hill. Like traversing a terrace, I zig zag back and forth along neighborhood streets avoiding all the steep inclines until I reach the top. Then, like a roller coaster, I plunge down the hill on a one way street and into the river valley.
Hollywood taught me parked car doors are always opening just as a guy on a bike drives by, so I keep to the left side to avoid being abruptly stopped by one. I’m no fool. I pay attention.
This puts me in a difficult position. In avoiding one obstacle, I complicate another. The cars that are mobile must drive in between me and the parked cars which isn’t a problem in and of itself, but at the bottom of the hill, I have to cross back over to the right side, and to do this, I have to look behind me to see if anyone is there.
The loud balding fat man that taught drivers ed in high school warned me that whenever you look over your shoulder, you tend to pull your hands, and the car, in the same direction. That applies to bikes too, and as I glanced over my shoulder this morning, I veered into an oncoming car, quickly jerked the other way, and, all while speeding down a paved hill, wobbled as a weary driver sped past.
Experience has taught me I don’t want to die. My arteries filled with adrenaline, I slowed the bike down, cautiously looked over my shoulder again, and veered to the right side. I pulled up on the sidewalk and briefly consider purchasing a mirror.
The things I’ve learned about rain & bicycles:
a.) It doesn’t matter what the radar says.
b.) Brakes don’t work well when wet.
c.) A Poncho may keep parts of you dry, but it isn’t designed to make you feel dry.
d.) Wheels spray lots of water in the most inconvenient directions, namely the crotch and the posterior. It’s wise to bring extra underwear.
e.) Road debris, when wet, sticks to everything.
f.) There are no windshield wipers for eyes.
g.) When you put Polmade in your hair before you bike in the rain, it washes out and into your eyes where it stings and blinds you at the very moment you need your eyes open the most. It’s just a stupid thing to do.
It's a common story. Spouse with low self esteem and issues of personal fulfillment looks at the person they're marriage to one day and decides that years of common martial calamities are the fault of this one person. Heartbreak ensues.
My wife's inability to find happiness within herself instead seeking it in another man's arms has left me with having every other week of freedom?, depression?, or just a bunch of time to fill. As she slowly becomes my ex-wife, and I adjust to the painful reality of only seeing my children every other week, I look for ways to cope.
And alcohol is always an option, but after investing years of painful dedication to the routine and the labor of exercise, I consider my maintained 170 pounds and steady heart rate of 60 beats per minute too precious to waste on wallowing in self pity. I'm just not that kind of guy.
Yes, if my prospects of enjoying the fruits of a decades long relationship with a single female are now dashed by the triteness of the seven year itch, then at least on the weeks my children are absent, I can derive some satisfaction from pedaling a rusting bike through downtown streets without getting maimed. This is my new half life.
