I like bikes. I like bikes so much I want to take them behind the middle school and get them pregnant. Instead of a crazy old cat lady, I’ll be a crazy old bike man with half a dozen bikes, each with a unique name, personality and malady.
I recently purchased by first fixed gear bike, which brings my total, counting one for Ky, a tandem attachment for Ky, and my hybrid, up to four, and it’s been a revelation. Riding this bike, or “Dirty Bird,” as I’ve named her, feels the most like it did when I was kid than any other I’ve ridden yet.
Excuse my waxing philosophic, but I love this bike. I love the way it makes me feel young when I ride it and the way I want to spend every free, sunny moment on it. It’s fast and fun and free of miscellaneous cares and parts. What I put into “Dirty Bird,” I get out of it. I can’t coast; my legs constantly turn, up and down, up and down.
But I’m worried. I’m worried my constant riding will grow old and boring; in essence, that I’ll begin to make it more adult-like, that I’ll begin to compartmentalize and analyze my rides, looking to squeeze the maximum efficiency out of it, turning it into a chore, a to-do list, an exercise routine.
Maybe I’ll take up running again. Maybe channeling that need to take the fun out of fun, to make it adult, will keep the joy in my bike rides. But just thinking about running wears me out. And I use to love running. It felt so simple and pure at the time. Just my feet and the road. If I start running again, though, my time with “Dirty Bird,” will be lessened.
Oh to be torn between two lovers. My ex wants me back, but my mistress, oh! my mistress! And while writing this, a third lover, ie the gym, called to remind me it’s been a while since we’ve last met.
Don’t think I’m complaining though. It feels good to be wanted and to desire. It’s been a while since I’ve been this active and while it’s certainly harder to do as I get older (I’m almost 30!), I feel vibrant and alive in a way I haven’t in a while.
Hopefully, when I’m nearing 50 and a mid-life crisis, I’ll go this route instead of dyeing my hair, buying a sports car and dating a college co-ed. It would certainly be cheaper to buy a new bike.
Now, if I could just divorce these extra, unwanted pounds and the bastard kids she left me with. Maybe she’ll get the hint if I continue spending time with my three lovers. She’s a little dense, though, so it might take a while. Fortunately, I’ve got all the time in world, thanks to “Dirty Bird.”