Happy Trails

My first bicycle was impossibly big. It was blue and silver, a gem. I don't remember learning how to ride it, just that it felt like flying once I did. My sister had a Spyder bike with high-rise handlebars, very cool. She was tougher than the boys in the neighborhood but was my ever-trusting sidekick, everywhere I went. We were lucky to live on the outskirts of a small town, out in the country where there was little traffic and plenty of kids to play with. That bike took me all the way to right before college, when I bought a used "racer" model with turned-down handlebars. It was yellow and fast. I thought I was extremely modern. Melanie and I rode our bikes that next summer all over the countryside, riding farther than seemed safe. It was a banner year for blackberries, so we'd take a bucket, fill it up and head back home, metal banging against our bikes, praying we didn't spill any. Mama would bake pies and cobblers, then throw a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top. That was one of the sweetest summers of my life, enjoying my sister-friend and doing simple things. 

I've had some great bikes in my adult years, my kids riding along with me on the Silver Comet Trail. We'd throw everything in our big conversion van and meet up with friends, then fly along the trails. My kids have now flown the coop, but I've occasionally met up with my brother or sister to take a leisurely ride. These last few years, real estate and the hectic pace of work eclipsed any semblance of exercise. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. When I began a food plan back last year, I put it as one of my goals to eventually get a new bike. I have a fantastic Trek bike that I bought years ago, but the thing is huge and it's actually a man's model, so it's really hard to swing my rusty leg over to get on the thing. For my 60th birthday, my kids bought me some kind of Apple techno-whiz-contraption that I stared at for three days. It was fascinating, trendy and expensive. And useless, in my mind. I sheepishly asked them if I could return it and get something else. Something I really wanted. Nobody had checked my Amazon wish list, because it was right there at the top: a vintage, mint-green bicycle with wide tires, a basket and a rack on the back. It had this lovely swoop, so I could dismount easily. It looked like Seaside at the Beach, where my brain loves to reside. They laughed, happily returned the Wiz-Brain thingey and gave me the money. 

I ordered the bike and it arrived today in a giant box, in a thousand pieces. Ken was tired and begged off putting it together. My daughter had to go to the gym and promised me I could do it, with a little patience. I have none of that. But I dug in and contorted my body in strange ways to put this thing together. Right now it's sitting here in my study, looking like Mayberry popped right off the page. Tomorrow I have to get some bike grease so I can put the pedals and seat on, but it looks like a million bucks. There's guilt involved, spending money on a bicycle when we might need beans and rice next year...but I figure you only turn 60 once and then it all gets kinda dicey. Maybe I'll go hunt me some blackberries...