Slap-happy trails to you
Yesterday was Memorial Day, and today I feel as if I’d been kicked several times in the crotch by a rodeo clown. That’s because, in the spirit of honoring our fallen soldiers, we decided to dress in ridiculous outfits and pedal around in circles for a couple hours before stuffing our faces with food. We went on a bike ride.
Why is it that children can dress however they want when they hop on their bikes, but adults have to make a fashion production out of it? Adults, in deadly earnest, don costumes for everything, a fact I was reminded of in embarrassing detail when I visited an aerobics class with a friend a few years back. Everyone else was dressed in trendy spandex leotards and special aerobics trainers, and I showed up in a floppy t-shirt, denim shorts, rolled-down socks, and Mr. Roger’s-brand deck shoes. I had my hair pulled back in a ponytail, but that was my only concession to the aerobics community, of which I was clearly not a part. Anyway, despite the bike shorts Scott so graciously lent me, the ones with the crotch pad thick enough to fool the Princess and the Pea and all her sisters, I still looked like the product of a past century. Maybe I shouldn’t have applied toothpaste to my mosquito bites before I left the house, but you live and learn.
Poor Scott. As is any proper biking enthusiaste, he’s enthusiastic about biking, and as a natural-born teacher endowed with the gift of gab, he’s also enthusiastic about hammering the details down your throat in an enthusiastic manner. I, on the other hand, as a reclusive intractable mute who’d rather be home reading, hate being taught something unless I ask. “Okay, see those gears on the right side of your handlebars?” Scott chirped enthusiastically in the parking lot as we started out. Undeterred by receiving no answer whatsoever, he continued. “And the ones on the left side? Those determine the blah-blah of your doo-dah. Here, let’s pull over and I’ll show you…”
“NO, just keep riding.”
“Well, if I show you…”
“NO, I’ll figure it out myself. Me do it. ME DO IT.”
Following behind Scott several yards on the trail, in the flurry of the water- and woodfowl he flushed as he rode, I messed with the gears and found out they worked the way he said they did. Imagine that.
One of the deadliest hazards on the bike trail, I discovered, was other bicyclists and/or pedestrians, but Scott thoughtfully circumvented this by proclaiming in a loud voice, “Coming up behind!” every time we encountered them. He did this to avoid startling them. As with the gears, it was good for me to see how helpful this was, as formerly peaceful, meandering people jumped and stumbled over their feet on a mad scramble to the trail shoulder, or accidentally upset strollers containing sleeping children, or skidded and fell off their own bikes.
I think I’ll wait a few weeks, or until the burning stops, before hitting the trail again. Hey you guys, I hope you’re having a great day. kiss! xo
May 29th, 2007 09:08
Afternoon Kells. I haven’t been on a bike in ages. And ages. Can’t see myself dressing up in all the gear. But sure, once you didn’t take any of that EPO stuff you hear cyclists on about I’m sure you’ll be fine.
May 29th, 2007 09:11
I was not a trail biker when I was a teen. I was a “ride your ten-speed around town because you don’t have a car” biker. I learned a few things, though, and I will pass them on to you now, in the spirit of teaching:
1. You don’t have to touch your handlebars when you ride. You can just use your highly-developed sense of balance and subtle leaning ability. This will help you look really cool, except for the two or three times a day when you crash really badly.
2. If you’re a 265-pound high school boy on a cheap, badly-welded bike from a discount store, don’t try to pop wheelies. You’ll break your bike frame and you’ll be too poor to afford another bike. Then you’ll have to walk everywhere until your friends buy cars.
Hello, Kelly.
May 29th, 2007 09:16
Hey Fency O’Fence. ha! O’Fence, get it? I just did. I can understand if you don’t want it, though.
What’s EPO, little? Whatever it is, I’m not going to stand for it, and will dress however I want to. Actually, it WAS heartwarming to see people in regular clothes as they rode yesterday; thankfully, we don’t live in a trendy part of the country. We’re downhome folk here.
I can imagine that riding a bike in the city would be difficult, so it makes sense you haven’t ridden for ages. If you lived in the country, wouldn’t it be a nice alternative to a car? I wish everything wasn’t so spread out here, and that I didn’t have to slather myself with bug spray and sunscreen every time I go out, OR watch for NASCAR enthusiastes. I’d probably ride a lot more.
May 29th, 2007 09:22
Probably based on my current condition, Scotty, all’s I could think of when I read Advice #2 is that tender parts must have also popped when you broke your bike frame popping wheelies. If I wasn’t so unteachable, I would DEFINITELY follow your sage advice. In fact, I wish I’d heard it before yesterday, because I tried popping a wheelie over a little runnel of muddy water and about killed myself. I only weigh 86 pounds, though. Rounded down.
Hi, you! xo
May 29th, 2007 09:33
Here’s a tip, you can ice it down. It’ll feel better. Swear. Also, this reminded me of something David Sedaris wrote, only it was in your voice, which is way better. Good morning, Kelly. I have loves for you this Tuesday morning.
May 29th, 2007 09:45
You know what’s interesting, and also disturbing in that it reveals how easily I’m influenced? I’ve been READING DAVID SEDARIS. I just bought his book Naked at Barnes & Noble on Sunday! Whee! Also, you’re incredibly astute. Really.
I’m gonna go get me a bag o’ frozen peas. Thanks for the tip, honey bunches.
I have OODLES of loves for you this morning, too (and every morning).
May 29th, 2007 10:06
Ha! People telling you stuff you never asked to be told, DEFINITELY a fist-clencher.
And it’s never even avuncular (or matronly) life-advice; you know, the sort that might actually be interesting and meaningful. it’s always to do with directions and machinery and other mundanities.
I once worked with a bunch of guys (they thought of themselves as The Guys), van-drivers, who gave me endless advice on how to behave during my driving test. Despite the fact that I assured them I was never going to TAKE a driving test.
God bless all the G.I.s who fought and died so that Europeans could be free to whine about America! Happy belated Memorial Day!
May 29th, 2007 10:18
Mally, oh yes, “Why don’t you just…”: some of the most fist-clenching, jaw-clenching and bowel-clenching words in the universe, as we’ve already established. Though, I have to admit the gear advice DID come in handy, so some advice DOES, but I’ll never admit it to those who give it.
I’d like someone to tell me how to time-travel. Now THAT would be helpful advice. Though I’d probably resent that, too.
God bless your God bless, Mally O. You’re sweet for saying. I just hope you don’t get beat up for it. Watch your back, honey.
May 29th, 2007 10:27
And it doesn’t even make sense, because I’m sure we’d have been allowed to moan about America in Russian, or German. (Actually, I think I would rather have been part of the USSR than the European Union. Russian is such a nice language, and oh, that drab and dingy Soviet chic…!)
May 29th, 2007 10:33
What? I’m shocked! You don’t want to be Chinese?
And don’t even give me that about drab and dingy Soviet chic, when you KNOW you want one of those big furry hats with the ear flaps. You’d wear it everywhere, so don’t even pretend.
May 29th, 2007 10:38
Um…..my bike is hanging from the rafters of the garage……
all the padded spandex in the world can’t get me to go with hubby on his 4 hr. bike rides.
Glad you had a good weekend!
May 29th, 2007 10:57
I just about died after an hour and a half, so I can’t imagine four hours of riding, Karedy. And obviously, all the padded spandex in the world didn’t help me with my short ride. I’d have to sit on a waterbed to make it for four hours.
But it WAS a good weekend, despite. Yay!
May 29th, 2007 12:17
EPO, it is illegal and deadly, but god damn if it don’t make you pedal faster
May 29th, 2007 12:32
Ooh, it’s a DRUG? I’m on board, then. ha ha, kidding. I’ve never even gotten to the point where I could claim I’ve never inhaled. I’m such a pansy when it comes to illegal substances. I have to get all my information from Christopher Multisante, or however his last name is spelled.
Oy wait! You gave me a link. I’ll have to publish this, and then I’ll check it out.
May 29th, 2007 12:37
Hehe
I demand that you go bike riding again! See, how much FUN you had! And the normally peaceful people had an exciting time too! Surely, jumping out of a bright eyed, redhead’s way would be exciting!
I remember the time when I wore ‘tights’/’slacks’ to aerobics classes under a very long t-shirt with sleeves that hung 2 feet off each shoulder.
Thank goodness that time is behind me.
May 29th, 2007 12:37
Ah, performance enhancement drugs… You forgot to include the fact that EPO is effective and illegal and deadly, as the headline said. Didn’t want to influence the kiddies reading my posts, right? That was sensitive of you. Well, I’ve never been in a position to use PEDs, neither, as I’m about as athletic as a tree conch. I’m exhausted just hitting the space bar.
May 29th, 2007 12:42
Teehee, I won past your own comment Kelly. Fancy that!
May 29th, 2007 12:59
Did you wear a bandanna on your forehead, and leggings, and sing “Let’s Get Physical, Physical… I Wanna Get Physical… Listen to your Body Talk…” a la Olivia Newton John? Me neither. I would NEVER have done that.
Remember Olivia Newton John, Ace?
I will definitely go riding again, as soon as the burning stops. It WAS fun. (Rooting around for frozen peas.)
May 29th, 2007 14:47
ha, HA!! You could really be my twin, I *will NOT* be what what to do, nor how to do it. ESPECIALLY by my husband!
Sorry to hear about the burning…this is one of those times when I’d rather not offer to kiss it better
May 29th, 2007 14:48
Oh god, I meant “be told what to do”
*sigh* it seems my brain has gone for good. Or bad maybe…
May 29th, 2007 14:59
HA! Claredy, you funny thing, refusing to cater to my latent lesbianism. And you really ARE my twin if you’re for-good-and-brainless.
OH, URGH I hate being told what to do, especially by my husband. Excuse me, but I wear the iron pants in the family, thankyou. Which may be the problem with the burning, now that I think about it…
May 29th, 2007 15:52
“Kicked in the crotch by a rodeo clown”
That is too funny.
Frozen peas are the greatest. Good call Heather Anne.
I bought my wife a mountain bike and she rides it in the same gear all the time. She hates to shift.
I will never try to tell her what to do though. Her bike, her rules.
Feel better, enjoy your peas.
May 29th, 2007 16:07
I’m feeling extraordinarily peas-full right now, thank you, Mad William.
And you are a VERY WISE MAN for not telling your wife what to do. Otherwise you might be havin’ to buy your OWN bag of frozen peas, if you catch my drift, and I’m sure you do, as you’re from Oregon, and Oregonians are an especially savvy bunch.
May 29th, 2007 16:32
There are, of course, times when it is prudent to recognize someone else’s expertise in an area and actually ask for the advice. Not that it would have made your crotch feel any better, in this particular case, though!
I like bike riding, except the part where it feels like you have chronic yeast infection if you do it a lot.
And also, now the part about also hauling two children’s weight behind me in the oh-so-cool bike chariot.
But it’s kind of a power trip to see people scramble out of your way like that.
KIDDING!
May 29th, 2007 17:49
Aw, Talena, embrace the power. EMBRACE THE POWER.
But wait - you have one of those cool chariot bikey things? I’m impressed. I can barely keep myself balanced, let alone a trailer behind me. And that’s WALKING.
And I agree with you about asking for advice, say, like when I need to know how to load the nuclear missiles into my submarine. But garden-variety advice issues? Me do it!
May 30th, 2007 00:58
Oh, Kelly. You make me laugh.
May 30th, 2007 07:44
Another reclusive intractable mute here … except with me “hopelessly” should preface this description. I’m sure more than half of our neighborhood thinks my husband is “that really outgoing single-parent with the greyhounds,” because I rarely join him in his friendly communing with others.
Why must opposites attract?!?!
May 30th, 2007 08:23
Tally, ah aims to please. xo
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Juls, sis, we forgot to add “drama princesses” to the list!
Some days I absolutely refuse to go anywhere with Scott because he’ll either meet someone he knows and talk for an hour, or in lieu of that, strike up a conversation with a stranger about bicycling, motorcycling, scuba-diving, Volvos, drumming, ’80s rock bands, African pygmy wrestling or some other anything I’m completely uninterested in. If an ambulance shows up at one of the neighbor’s houses, I may be bursting with curiosity to know who died or was struck down with the palsy, but Scott’s the one who will go over and find out what happened. I’m with you.
hee. I’m with you, she says, except you and I would probably never meet each other, even if we lived next door.
May 30th, 2007 09:51
Oy with the African pygmy wrestling conversations! My eyes just roll back in my head. Yeah, my hub checks on the ambulance visits too … probably helps the medics load up, for all I know. I can’t see out the window that far. I swear, if it hadn’t been for our mutual adoration of alcohol all those years ago, I doubt he and I would have met.
And as for you and me, Kel, we’d be like me and another neighbor/friend TWO houses away. We e-mail each other regularly, but may not see each other for months. Sooooooo saaaaaaaaad.
May 30th, 2007 14:24
a wee bit of role reversal here. If there is an ambulance next door Ruth Ann will be the one checking things out. However if we are at a party I will be the one talking about Pablo Cruise, the newest adventure of Mad Marvin or African Pgymy wrestling, the proper mixture of rum to coke and so on. Hope you are feeling better. Jesse came and helped us move one day. It was just like having you here except he is stronger. While moving today found a picture of Kel, Scott and Van at our weeding reception. Van is a wee bit taller, Scott has gained face and you look exactly the same, except your hair is not red. Take care and maybe you can work the peas into your award winning essay.
May 31st, 2007 07:51
Juls, you know, I would rather write to my best friends than actually move my lips to speak to them. Are we insane? Are we teched? Probably, but I like us anyway. Apparently, our husbands do too (or did at one point, but we can probably chalk that up to our amazing beauty). I think it’s funny that you email and rarely see your two-doors-down neighbor. Yyyes. xo
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Roddy, there seems to be a bit of a recluse in bloggers, doesn’t there? Scott and his friend Jim actually talked about rum for about 45 minutes not too long ago; I couldn’t believe it; I didn’t think it possible to discuss the merits and/or demerits of one funky little drinky-poo for that long. It was ridiculous.
Hey, it’s great that Jesse helped you! He told Scott you have a really nice house, so now your story is corroborated, unless you gave him money for saying that. And you DO realize you said “weeding reception” don’t you? I think that’s pretty telling, Rod. Say hi to Ruthie! xo