I Never Learned...
Tue., July 31, 10:11 AM
You would think that, since I don't expect to be driving, I would get on my bicycle. Trouble is, I can't ride a bike; I never learned how.
I had a nice tricycle when I was a little girl, but at seven or eight years old, I asked for a “two-wheeler.” My mother told me I couldn't have one because I didn't know how to ride one. “How can I learn if I don't have one,” I asked. “Borrow someone else's.”
Yeah, right! Even supposing that another kid would actually lend me a bike, how many times would I fall off before they took it back in disgust? You can be sure I would have fallen a lot. As I think back, I had some grown-up cousins who might have helped me. But my mother didn't like that side of the family, so I would have been afraid to ask.
As an adult, I realize that the reason I didn't get a bike (as opposed to the excuse she gave me) was simply that they couldn't afford it. By the time my brother and sister were old enough for bikes, there was a little more money coming in. Maybe, if I had asked, I could have had a bike then too, but I had gotten into the mode of not asking.
Thirty years later, when I had some difficulty getting the hang of driving a car, my mother told me it was my own fault, “because you never learned to ride a bike.” That, of course, is faulty logic; I just had spent too many years in the passenger seat and had to retrain my eyes and mind. But my mother did like to rub things in. I was just getting to the point (at thirty-seven!) where I would be able to tell her, don't say things that hurt people's feelings.
Of course, you realize all that is ancient history. But U.D. and I have been discussing bikes for a number of reasons:
- gas is ridiculously expensive;
- short car trips are bad for the environment;
- some longish walks are short bike trips, and her office is about a mile from home; and
- the exercise would be good for us.
Praise the internet as a place to ask questions without someone laughing in your face! One of the first things we learned is that these are “three-wheeled bikes.” Tricycles are what little kids ride. (Pardon my dust!) Three-wheeled bikes are available with all kinds of options, like multiple gears and hand brakes. U.D. was embarrassed to learn that they are marketed to seniors. She pointed out, however, that people have been laughing at her for years; she's used to it.
You can order one of these things through sites like Amazon, but… You have to pay for shipping, so the price isn't much better than a brick-and-mortar store. And you have to put it together. Thirty years ago I swore I would never assemble another bike; the last one took Husband and me — together — five hours. The price of ten man-hours was a helluva lot more than the $25 the store charged for a pre-assembled bike.
We chose a locally owned business rather than a chain. (Keep the money in the community.) U.D. went to look and came home to report. I insisted that we must make sure we can ride them; no sense investing in something that will lie in the garage. On a sunny afternoon, the two of us go down to the bike store.
The helpful clerk said that, of course, we could try one out. He didn't have a single-speed assembled, but he would lock the three-speed device for us. He showed us how the brakes worked and assured U.D. that she was not the youngest person to whom he had sold a three-wheeled bike. She got on and gingerly rode down the block.
She had some difficulty turning around (“you trade agility for the added stability of the third wheel”), so we walked to her. The clerk turned the bike, and she suggested I ride it back. How long since I did this? Fifty-five years? It was a little high for me, but I can indeed ride that thing.
So now we actually have the bike in our possession. U.D. has tried it out a couple of times, knowing that she'll have to build some strength before she dares take it to the office. I will try riding when she isn't using it.
But the biggest surprise? Husband has asked whether he can try it! I have my doubts — he'll be out of breath before he gets out of the garage — but we have to let him try. It could be the best thing that's happened to him in years.
False alarm — I might have known. Husband has no intentions of exercising; perish the thought! Can he electrify the bike? (No; we're trying not to do that!) Can he hook up a motor that is powered by pedaling, something he saw on tv? (No!) Can't he put on signal lights? (Duh! Remember hand signals? That's how you learned to drive.)
And then, joke of jokes, can he ride it in the supermarket? No, he can't; they do provide various options for the disabled. But, y'know, the bike is too big to fit in the car. He would have to ride it a mile and a half. This is the same man who is out of breath walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. Damn, he wears me out.
