From my days as a teenager in the San Fernando Valley and that very first 10 speed I rode to school and destinations much farther...to this: A sleek, 80's vintage Bianchi 12 speed road bike built for the likes of professional Tour de France professionals under the age of 17...what was I thinking!
Lest not I judge my success in this foray based on the first 5 minutes of excruciating pain, the paranoia of falling down (apparently, one can indeed forget how to ride a bike), and deciding it was not a good idea to mount an ashtray and a beer can holder on the handlebars...I will do this or my name isn't Jack Diddley (and, as most of you know, it isn't). Not to mention the fact that I have already had bad dreams of getting crushed by an errant hay-hauling, Red Bull slurping semi driver.
Getting back to the excruciating pain, most of which located south of the border, I can't seem to recall as a boy that this was that much of issue. But today, this morning, my boys were crying out the moment I swung my leg over, scooted myself into motion, and settled onto the saddle. I must also tell you that it took three tries to actually swing my leg over in the first place. Geeze, I have trouble putting on my boxer shorts let along attempting a near high jump over this road bike frame. Loretta was standing nearby, providing the encouragement needed to complete the first step. Encouragement coming in form of, "Honey, be careful...you can do it...you can do it!" And as I wobbled off down the street a few feet, "How are your balls on that tiny seat?"
Like I said, unlike many past follies of mine, I will save judge ment until I've given it the full "college try". Unfortunately, the choice of words "college try" would not be very appropriate as I lost interest in attending college courses 10 minutes after enrolling.My boys will just have to endure for the time being. I may have to install a full size motorcycle saddle, but I'm gonna do this!
Pass the ice pack, please.
