There's a New Man in my Life
It’s the dawn of a new day bitches! And this day involves me riding a bike. Yup, that’s how I roll. Literally.
On Saturday, after weeks of intense pondering, I decided to bite the bullet and buy myself a two-wheeled wonder. Understand, I had not been on a bike since I was about 12, so it was a big decision, centered mainly around how ridiculous I would look on it.
Saturday morning, bright and early, I took myself to Canadian Tire to test drive a few bikes. I had had my heart set on a cruiser, but it was way bigger than I thought it would be. I couldn’t figure out a dainty way to swing my leg over the seat. Just then, I glanced to my left and there He was. The bike of my dreams. A spotlight zoomed in on it and a choir of angels sang as the voice of God (played by the voice of Tim Gunn of TV’s Project Catwalk) said, ‘Oh honey, that’s the one.’
It’s a Schwinn folding bike in a fetching shade of maroon (normally not a great color, but on my bike, it’s the shit, OK?) I told my sales assistant (a guy in his 40s who had a weave that made him look like a pimp from the 70s) ‘pump up those tires, I’m taking that bad boy!’
A few minutes later, I out of the store, but too scared to actually ride the bike, so I just walked with it for a few blocks trying to look cool. Three blocks later, I decided I had to get on. I mounted Clooney (yes, that is what I named him. Let’s face it, it’s the closest I’m going to get to George) and after a couple of shaky seconds, I was cruising. I decided to bike to another shop to buy myself a good lock. It was a perfect day for biking; the sunshine, the wind blowing through my hair, the near brushes with death – it made me feel alive, I tell ya!
I bought the lock and biked home. But I could not stay put. I was looking for any excuse to get out on Clooney. I biked to the other side of town to visit my friend at work. I biked home. I biked to get a facial. I biked home. I biked to my friend’s house party. I biked home. By the end of the day, I’d clocked up over 20 miles.
Sunday, I cycled downtown again to get a basket for Clooney. The guys in the shop convinced me to get two; one on the front for my purse and one on the back for ‘cargo’. I’m not exactly sure what ‘cargo’ I’ll have, but I liked the fact that they thought I might have some. ‘So, you can just attached them on there and you’re good to go,’ says the dopey sales assistant. ‘Um, that would imply that I own tools, ‘ I say. ‘Do I look like I own tools?’ Dopey sales guy agreed that his assumption was stupid as hell and got to work screwing on the baskets.
Then I rode Clooney uptown to go shoe shopping. I went in for shoes and came out with sandals, a clutch purse, earrings and a bangle. (I blame my lack of focus on the heat.) When I finally emerged from the store, I felt a few raindrops. I dashed across the street to where I’d parked Clooney, shoved my goods in my ‘cargo’ basket and scrambled to get on the seat. I had barely cycled a couple of yards when the heavens opened and absolutely drenched me. Let me tell you, rain hurts when you’re going at high speeds! I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible so I kept peddling, saying ‘ow, ow, OW!’ as the rain thrashed against my face and soaked through my clothes. By the mid-way point, I was praising Jesus that I had decided to wear a bra.
I made it home before the thunder and lightening hit. I lay in bed, watched the sky light up and listened to the thunder, feeling satisfied that I finally made a commitment to get active. My ass is killing me and my legs are in a constant state of cramp, but it is damn worth it.
So, here’s to Clooney, the new man in my life (and to me having buns of steel by august).
