winkgirl4's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's just like riding a bike Last night, while the silence echoed off the walls of my, now, empty house, I decided it was time to buy a new bike. My daughter, who just recently mastered the art, has been pleading with me to get a bike (or ride her brother�s) so that she and I can go for rides together. What an excellent idea, thought I. What a perfect task to fill the empty space. So I promptly took myself down to the local store that sold the needed machines. The selection was impressive. Bikes galore- in every size and color. The standard size that LOOKED as though it would fit me turned out to be a bit too tall. I'd have to angle the bike at 45 degrees just to stop. So we tried the next smaller size. When she pulled it down, I swear it looked far too small for a grown up, like me. But we tried it, nonetheless. Stradling it, it felt like it was the right height but, given it was a store with limited space, I wasn't afforded the convenience of a test drive. Though I could stradle the bike and still stand upright, I still couldn't shake the belief that this really was a kid's bike- a big kid, certainly, but still a kid. Next, I sat on an exact replica of the black trails bike that Margaret Hamilton rode as the wicked witch of the west in �The Wizard of Oz.� Hm. Not really the look I was going for. Quickly passing it up, I moved towards a red mountain bike that, again, was simply too tall for my (barely) five foot frame. Each time I asked to look at one of the bikes that looked like it was built for a grown up, the sales lady sighed and stood more earnestly close to the smaller bike. After mounting several of the options that I thought were just right for me, I let the saleswoman talk me into the smaller bike. I, then, bought it and I took it home. I knew it. When I got it home and took the little cardboard out of the spokes and shakily began riding it down the street, I realized that I might as well have been riding Jordan's bike. I knew it was too small. I knew it. I nearly knocked my teeth out with my knees just trying to pedal. You know, getting on a bike and riding isn't really as simple as it used to be. Ten years ago, when last I rode a bike regularly, it was 'throw leg over bike, immediately stand on pedal, and a fluid forward movement would follow. I would, then, ride gracefully up the largest of hills and the sharpest of turns. Imagine my surprise when I found myself making wide strides across the streets to get the feel back and, then, panting as I made my way up hills I never noticed existed on my daily walks and jogs. In my defense, not unlike the clowns that ride the miniature bikes in the circus, that uphill climb was nothing to scoff at. I rode as best I could for as long as I could, enjoying the feel of being on a bike again- I mean, a bike that does not sit on a pedestal in my bedroom in front of the television set. Then I put the bike in the garage and decided that, tomorrow, I'll return the bike and, very likely, purchase the aforementioned �Wizard of Oz� model- too tall or no. Something else that has been hard to get used to is sleeping in a bed alone. You�d think that I�d revel in all the extra space and not having to fight for the covers, but I don�t. I reach. I wander. I move through the sheets in search of that weight that I became accustomed to rolling towards. Stacking pillows in that empty place is of no use. I fight the urge to call him- anyone, really- to just hold down the other side of the bed. Sleeping alone, again, takes some getting used to. But, like riding a bike, it just takes practice. 11:27 a.m. - July 06, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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