So my husband is an optimist. Who knew?
A couple weeks ago, out of nowhere, he said, “I was thinking we should get you a bike.”
My first thought was, But I don’t go outside.
My second thought was, Has he forgotten what happened last time I was on a bike?
When we were dating, he witnessed my first bicycle ride as an adult. I rode into a tree. Sadly this wasn’t the first time I’d ridden into a tree. I drove a snowmobile into one when I was around 13 or 14. I’m pretty sure if I’d ridden a horse more than once in my life, I also would have somehow managed to navigate the both of us into a tree. It seems that riding astride of things (ahem!) is not my strong suit.
But Kory had faith in me, and after my initial resistance to the idea of two wheels, I actually got excited about getting a bicycle. Especially when Kory started sending me pictures of cute cruisers and comfort bikes with seats like sofa cushions. Not to mention the baskets! I pictured a 50s version of myself riding down the street in bobby socks and a ponytail. Oh, I would immediately drop 30 pounds and be adorable on my retro bike with a basket and fancy rims and maybe even a bell.
We finally found the right one and ordered it AND the basket AND the matching helmet (Wait! What about my ponytail?) It came today, Kory put it together—he has the necessary education for such a task—and I took my first ride.
Oh. My. Gosh. As it turns out, one needs muscles to ride a bike. I seem to have none. Whatsoever. But going downhill was fun. I can’t wait to get on it again and build up some strength. Maybe I will get rid of that 30 pounds after all.
At the risk of sounding a little corny (ugh! Hate corny!), my husband has no idea what this pretty bike means to me. I had no idea when he suggested getting me a bicycle that it would actually touch my heart. (Ew! I know, I know. This is so not me.) But when I was a little girl I desperately wanted a pink and purple ten speed. And the permed, blonde 80s hair to go with it. What I had was a hand-me-down dirt bike. And straight, almost-black hair.
Time passed. I forgot about the pink and purple ten speed. 80s fashions wilted, thank goodness, and I learned to like my straight, dark hair. I didn’t know there was a part of me that still longed for a sleek, stylish bicycle. Until my husband said, “I want to buy you a bike.” Then he let me pick out the prettiest, most girly one we could find, and when I balked at the price he said, “You’re worth it.”
All that remains is picking out a worthy name for my lovely cruiser. Any suggestions?
The Writer Who Speaks
3 days ago