Bicycle, Bicycle...

"You're jumping back into the work force after staying home for 20 years with your kids? No problem, it's..."

"You're getting back into the dating scene?  No worries, it's..."

"Seriously? No mojo for 3 years?  *giggles* well it's just..."

LIKE RIDING A BIKE.

I'm convinced that these people have never ridden a bike.  Because if they had actually sat their 182 pound butt on one of those thong style seats after 20 long years of being a non-cyclist, they'd know better than to say that.  None the less, when I found myself with an unexpected day off, 61 degree weather in November, and no children, I decided it was time to try out my new best-est birthday gift ever.  

As with all great journeys, the first step is always the hardest.

Removing the tags.

Really?  It's a bike people.  Do I really need four bags full of tags, instructions, and warranty information?  Oh, and lest not forget the one in the wheel, on the front tire, and the little "L" and "R" stickers on the pedals. 

Mkay, moving on.

I cram the bike into the back of my station wagon, catching my finger, and cussing under my breath pack up my pretty new bike into the car, and head for our local bike trail...

Fourteen miles of nothing but smooth paved road.  Yip, there's an occasional jogger and other cyclists, but this time of year it's pretty much open road along the ocean.  Which is good, because as I may have mentioned, it's been twenty years, and my sole purpose was to avoid anyone seeing me fall on my well padded butt.  Upon parking I did notice that EMS were standing by in case of any unforeseen, unmentionable event....

So here I go, steadily walking the new bike down to the path, taking care to note my surroundings.  You know, things like, there's no guardrails, so it may be best to avoid the rocks...

And avoid the puddles from last night's rain, so as to not get that lovely splash effect going up my backside.  Then of course there's the highly distracting view....

Cell phone to call for help, check.

Ear buds for music, check. 

Car keys, check. 

And... we're off. 

Pedal 16 feet. 

Get off the bike to adjust the seat. 

Pedal another 20 feet.  Adjust the seat again. 

Do this 3 more times.

Then start messing with the gear shifters.  Why in God's name do I need 21 speeds anyway?  This is not the Tour De France, and I so do not look good in yellow. 

And I'm off again...

wind in my hair, hair in my mouth, Whoa... that's a bug.  Gross.

I get about a mile down the path and realize that the wind is coming directly at me.  The 20mph wind.  No wonder I'm having such a hard time getting anywhere. 

So I turn around.

Much better.

Moving along... wind at my back, angry birds at my front. 

It was like a stand off with the seagulls.  At one point, there was a narrowly avoided air attack, dive bombs included.  Unfazed, I continue on to the end of the path. If you look really close, off in the distance you can see the light house at the point.

And then it hits me, I have to pedal back into the wind.

Did I mention it's a 20 mph wind.  Yes? 

Whipping off the water? Mm mm, good times.

It took a while, but I made it back to the car.  I managed to avoid all the yucky crustaceans along the path (The seagulls drop them to split them open of the pavement), getting hit by the park ranger truck, and falling down, rendering myself unconscious on the rocks.  Upon arrival, I notified EMS that while their services were appreciated, they would not be necessary today.  Because after all, I am now a professional cyclist.  They smiled back at me, but I think they were really just hoping the crazy lady would leave them alone. All and all, my only complaint was the permanent bruises I will have on my butt bones from the seat. Note to self: look into a seat for fat people, preferably will gel inserts.

7 miles.

And you know what?

It was just like riding a bike.