September
8, 2000
© Darrell Noakes
Part 1
Tuesday, 4:50 pm
"Beautiful
day for a bike ride, don't you think?" says Dave on the phone. "Especially
on a brand new BikeE?"
"It's here?" I reply. "When will you have it ready?"
"It's all set to go. Just come and pick it up."
Ten minutes later, I'm standing at the service counter at the Bike Doctor, bouncing up and down from one leg to the other.
"Boy, that was fast," Dave says. "What'd you do, fly over here?"
"Where is it?" I ask.
I follow Dave to the back of the shop, almost stepping on his heels, and watch as he pulls the new bike down from its peg on the wall. I follow him as he wheels the bike to the front of the shop. Less than five minutes later I'm pushing the bike out the door.
I carry it to the curb and place it facing out into the street. I step over the frame, grab the handlebar, pivot on the balls of my feet, bend my knees and come to rest on the seat. The bike sags slightly, gently, as the suspension absorbs my weight. I grab the handlebar and lean back. It feels like taking the wheel of my mom's old Buick. I lift my right foot, crook my toes under the pedal, rotate the crank arm backwards until it's pointed straight up, and place my foot against the pedal. I wait a moment, check for traffic, then push my foot forward. As the bike noses into the street, my left foot catches the other pedal and the bike picks up speed.
It feels like the first day I ever rode a bike. I screech to a stop at the traffic light at the end of the block. The bike stops much faster than I expect. I plop my feet to the ground to keep my balance. I don't want to wait for this red light today. I bounce up and down on the seat.
"C'mon! C'mon!" I mutter, staring at the red light.
Quick glance right, no pedestrians. Good look left, no traffic. I can't wait. I change my mind about going straight through the intersection, and turn north onto Broadway Avenue instead. I pedal furiously and twist the GripShift. I pedal until my feet are a blur, then pop the bike into the next higher gear. I'm catching up to the cars. It occurs to me that I've been grinning since leaving the Bike Doctor.
I glance over my left shoulder. Stick out my arm. It feels funny making a turn signal while sitting upright. Check over my shoulder again. I lean slightly left and the bike effortlessly and instantly slips into the next lane. I lean left again and I find myself in the turn lane. I squeeze the brake levers and plop my feet to the ground.
There's a long line of traffic approaching. I bounce up and down on the seat, impatient with these drivers that are keeping me from moving. As the light turns yellow, I push hard on the right pedal and the bike launches forward. In a flash, I'm through the intersection, then speeding down Tenth Street. Halfway down the block, I decide to turn into the lane.
I haven't got a plan or destination. I'm just riding because I'm riding. I take each street and make each turn simply because it seems like the thing to do at the moment.
I can't remember when I've had so much fun on a bike.
Tuesday, 6:00 PM
"You're going to have to wipe that grin off your face," says Colleen as I push the bike up the sidewalk toward the house.
Part 2
Thursday, 11:30 PM
I
can
still remember
the first day I rode a bike without training wheels.
It was a sunny spring day in a new neighbourhood in a small town in British Columbia. The air was fresh, maybe slightly cool, with the scent of poplar. There were a few puffy clouds in a crisp morning sky. The sun filtering through the trees lit up the new leaves so they seemed to glow. I was probably five or six years old - I hadn't started school yet. My dad had removed the training wheels from my red and white CCM and I waited in the street with a combination of anticipation and dread as I prepared for my first solo flight. My mom promised to run alongside and hold me upright as I made my first ride. When I stopped at the end of the street and looked back for reassurance, I saw her standing at the other end of the block, waving at me. I had made the trip entirely on my own, without any help. After that, riding a bike was easy.
When you're a kid, your bike is just a bike. It isn't an environmental statement. It isn't a political stand. It's not part of your fitness plan. You ride your bike because you ride your bike.
That first summer, and for many summers thereafter, I rode my bike everywhere, exploring an ever expanding world. I've had many new bikes since then, but this week a new bike brought back the feeling of riding a bike for the first time. This week, I rode my first recumbent. It was fun. It was more fun than I've had in years.
I thought I had a pretty good rationale for buying the bike. Purpose. Goal. Objectives. Plans.
The fact is, I just love riding it. I take it outside, get on, and ride with no purpose or objective in mind. I've taken the new bike to every client meeting. I've invented errands across town, just so I can ride the bike. On the way back home, I find myself in strange neighbourhoods or riding around the block two or three times. Tonight, a friend and I got our recumbents out and just rode around. We were like kids. At the end of the block, one of us would call out "left" or "right" or "straight" and that's the direction we'd take. We had no plan or route or destination.
I've ridden until my legs ached (and I just got back from two weeks riding in the mountains). At night in bed, I can still feel the motion of the bike and the pedals.
This is what cycling's all about!
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