Two-Wheeled Time Machine

I have something of a mixed history when it comes to bikes. As a child, I loved them. I learned to ride on a little green bike that was a hand-me-down from my brother, then graduated to a sweet red and chrome number that had a long, cushy banana seat covered in a cherry red patent leather that shone with sparkles. It also had a metal ring in the back that served as a hand hold for any passenger sitting behind me or hitching a ride on roller skates. As my early 80s childhood self would have said, riding around on that thing was totally rad.

Fast forward to junior high, when I inherited a brown wobbly ten-speed, again from my older brother. I could barely touch the ground with my tip-toes on this bike, and only at a tilt (hence the wobbling), and its skinny wheels seemed especially designed to get caught in ruts in the road. It was this bike that sent me flying onto the concrete on my way to seventh grade one morning, causing me to snap both bones in my left forearm. Needless to say, this bike and I were not friends after that. I had to ride it for another couple years but managed to express my displeasure towards it in passive aggressive ways like accepting rides home from friends who had car transport and leaving it overnight in the bike racks. By the tenth grade, I felt myself to be too sophisticated to ride a bike to school and opted for the much cooler method of walking (first with a backpack, then upgrading to carrying my notebook and textbooks in front of me) and bumming rides whenever I could. Somehow, that transition stuck, and I went bike-less for the next two decades.

This past April, when I was visiting my oldest brother and his family in Michigan, my sister-in-law suggested I try a ride with my oldest niece, Gigi. They had bought a yellow tandem Schwinn through Craig’s List the year before so that my niece Emmie, who is blind, could ride with the rest of the family. Turns out that tandem bikes work well for out-of-practice chicken Aunties too. I climbed behind Gigi full of trepidation, but as we pedaled down the road and began to gain some momentum, I felt a bubble of glee rise up in my chest. With Gigi up front controlling the steering and braking, all I had to do was pedal and enjoy the ride. And an enjoyable ride it was. My brother lives in a quiet, semi-rural community, and the flat, gently winding roads afforded vistas of green trees and quaint vacation cottages. As I pedaled in rhythm with my niece, I began to feel the pleasure of our movement and the wind blowing my hair back, and I remembered once again that riding a bike is fun!

Fast forward to Memorial Day weekend, and a friend and I taking advantage of a two-for-one bike sale. I am now the proud owner of a red and black 3-speed cruiser, and it’s had a transformative effect on me. Namely, it’s made me into a kid again. I’ve taken to asking all of my friends whether or not they have bikes and when we can go riding. I talked about it so much at school that some of my students wrote “have fun riding your bike” in my scrapbook at the end of the year. I don’t know what it is, exactly, that makes it so magical for me. Maybe it’s the slower pace and being able to see aspects of my neighborhood and neighbors that I’ve never noticed before driving in my car. Maybe it’s the lack of definite purpose when I ride. Maybe it’s just the rolling joy of motion. But maybe it’s because I can tell that the people who see me cruising by with a big grin on my face are jealous. Because let’s face it—my bike is pretty rad. Just ask the kid who challenged me to a race earlier this evening.