They say “it’s like riding a bicycle”, you know, you’re suppose to never forget this little old skill you picked up along the way. I’m sorry, but I’m no elephant you see. I recall the first time my training wheels were removed and my Daddy giving me a heave-ho push off as I pedaled my scrawny stems off; right into some thorny rose bushes. Insert hysterical crying here.
Never wanting to give something up, I later in life gave it another go around; however, this time around the old neighborhood with my younger brother. Oh I was in bliss, I could actually ride from here to there! Here to there consisting of a straight shot, and the instant there was a bend around the corner I fell; bike and all. Mind you I was 21 and getting my ass laughed at by my skillful younger brother. I didn’t know what hurt more, my bruised ego or my bruised body.
Alas, my now-ex boyfriend decided he missed his old reckless riding days and some part of me is a glutton for punishment; so we headed to Bikecology in Beverly Hills. Two shiny new Treks later, an uber dorky helmet (hey, you have to protect the goods!), and a LA bike path map in hand; I had a new outlook on life.
No longer do I fall when there’s a break in the road, though I still can’t jump a curb without yelping that I just injured my ladybits. You can catch my long locks blowing in the wind on the Santa Monica bike path; now freed from the prison of the unstylish helmet since I’ve deemed the path safely mastered through profuse practice. Though through the mean streets of LA traffic, you will definitely not want a chance encounter with me. That is unless you want a mess of tears on the hood of your precious BMW, only then to roll off and kick the shit out of your car.
Pedestrians, drivers, doggies, et al… Wake Up! You have been warned!