IWantToRideMyBicycle

When I think of city biking, I picture Meg Ryan in City of Angels. She has cute curls popping out of her helmet, thick wool socks folded around her ankles (as we all did in the ‘90s), old sneakers, and the skillful zoom between cars.

I want to be her just then, in that opening chapter of the movie. I love the clinking of the old gears and her confident lean into the ram-style handlebars. Unfortunately, I’ve always been afraid of those bikes—leaning so far forward and balancing on such skinny tires.

So I finally retired the image in my head and let me remain as myself instead of a Meg Ryan imposter (which is probably for the best [SPOILER ALERT], considering she dies in a bicycle accident at the end of the film).

I’ve had one excuse after another, and I finally said “Enough!” and decided to go for it, starting with yesterday. I got my bike out of the garage for the first time since we moved to Lower Queen Anne.

My whole life feels like a big ol’ equation lately.

The last Tuesday of every month, my church body holds a prayer gathering downtown. This starts at 6:30. If I leave work at 4:30, I can catch the 4:42 bus to downtown. If traffic isn’t bad, I can be downtown by 5:20 and quite possibly home by 5:40.

I can then walk Pickle, feed Pickle, change my clothes, toss Bible and raincoat in shoulder bag, and hit the road.

The first ride went well. A lot of uphill, but that’s just Seattle. I have to say, I felt pretty slick carrying my helmet around once I got there. (This was after spending 75 cents failing to put air in my tires because I forgot you had to squeeze the machine lever to make the air actually go out, so don’t worry, I know I’m not actually slick by any means.)

Then there was tonight. I stopped at Target on my way home from work and got lights for the front and back of my bike, since that was one of my many excuses for not riding—all of our after-work activities end near dark.

Still a little sore from yesterday’s first run, I tackled the small slopes, promising myself that I could do it and surely didn’t need to walk my bike. So that’s what I did. I pushed through, and the best reward of riding uphill is the downward slant that follows, the gaining speed, the full force of air in my lungs.

I rode with my new lights flashing in the dusk. I did my best to stay in the bike lane (which is sometimes misleading), and I made it home safely through the park, following the bike path that I’ve longed to take.

Now my palms are sore from the handles, and my arms and legs are sore from the ride (since when did biking require so much arm strength?), and I am happy as a clam because I feel like I belong here: in the city, on my bike. And I got home to my Pickle faster than the bus. And I got exercise, finally.

Maybe someday I’ll rock the ram-handlebars and skinny tires (I dream of it, but still need to overcome the fear), but for now, I’m rollin’ with my name-tag “license plate” and rainbow tire lights because, hey, it’s fun.

Reasons I have not ridden my bike:

• RAIN
• Tires need air
• Seat adjuster is broken
• No lights
• Lived on top of Queen Anne hill
• Nervous about taking bike on bus if need-be
• Don't know how to use bike lanes
• So many hills!
• My bike is pink
• I'm a total amateur in a city of bikexperts