2 posts tagged “downtown”

There are two types of people who can be seen biking the streets of downtown. The first group ride shiny new mountain bikes or high end ten speeds, wear all manner of safety gear, and travel in straight lines. The second commute on a variety of two wheeled contraptions with the majority being old Schwinns, sport Hawaiian shirts, and meander across sidewalks, roads, and traffic. And then there’s me.
I don’t own a Hawaiian shirt, and even though my legs are slender and muscular, the idea of wrapping them in skin tight polyester for all the world to see isn’t appealing. I’m self conscious.
In the mornings I travel in straight lines, but on the way home I meander. I have an old Schwinn. I shun safety gear, but my motivations are more allied with the first group, I hate my car and am addicted to endorphins.
The straight liners are social, successful people, professionals sporting their way to work every morning, and nod or wave as I ride past. Those that meander never look me in the eye as if ashamed of failure, and I imagine their choice of locomotion isn’t voluntary, the result of a DUI or some other nonsuccess.
But in the perilous concrete landscape where we scurry about like rodents amongst larger more vicious and potent creatures, I have yet to identify with any fellow biker. Be it that I am a “professional” tackling yet another challenge, I evade the image with my corroded bike and casual appearance. I have no desire, or capital, to accomplish that, yet when I cross the path of another rusted Schwinn with a middle aged, greasy guy in a flower patterned button down and blue jeans, I recognize the superficial similarities, and it conflicts with my self image. I am torn.
Social creatures long to identify with each other, but as I search the rectangle jungle of metal, noise, and hard, unforgiving surfaces, I can’t find that comrade to re-enforce all that I believe I am. I am alone, lost in a wilderness of ambition and circumstance, fulfilling a desire while distracting myself from the harder realities of life.

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.

But a little self destructive behavior is warranted. Throwing all sense of style and dignity out the window, I grabbed my mom's old Schwinn ten speed out of my parent's garage, replaced the corroded tires, and set out to risk all hazard crossing busy intersections, heartless drivers, and narrow, bumpy roads without a helmet or biker pants for the sake of some sense of adventure, accomplishment, and ultimately, fulfillment.
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.