After that first Critical Mass I learned that it is probably not the best idea to buy a cheap bike off the Kmart rack based purely on its nostalgic appearance and without trying it out first. I now realized that my Huffy was too small for me and uncomfortable to ride (no matter how much I raised the seat, my legs were still very much bent over the pedals), and to top it all off, it was now making a mysterious grinding noise (a possible testament to its low dollar price).
I also realized that having no gears was fine when I was a child circling around the block, but now I felt out of shape and couldn't help but think that having a few gears might improve my life. Also, as a child, backpedaling to stop never bothered me as I never went that fast, but now it made me feel out-of-control and I felt unable to stop quickly if needed (hence the collision with F, in which I broke his rear light).
My husband could see that I had enjoyed Critical Mass and he agreed that if I was serious about continuing to ride my bike, that an upgrade was in order. So the next day we went to the local bike shop to take a look at some bikes. I still had my heart set on a beach cruiser-style bike, mostly because it was nostalgic, and also because it seemed to fit the California lifestyle so well. But, alas, they just don't make beach cruisers with gears or hand-brakes. After seeing a lovely hand-painted Mexican-style cruiser, I even asked the bike shop employee if there was a way to change the brake system to include brake levers or to add gears and he looked at me like I was crazy. Instead, he directed me to another bike that did, indeed, kinda-sorta resemble a cruiser, but also had hand-brakes and 21 speeds. It was, in fact, what they call a "hybrid".
I gave it a test ride and I was sold. Compared to my Huffy, this Trek 7000 WSD rode like butter. It was comfortable, it fit my body perfectly, and it was cute as well! We paid for and brought it home that very day. I was thrilled. There's nothing quite like the feeling of having a shiny new bike!
I figured I'd sell my Huffy since it was still pretty much brand new, except for the mystery grinding noise. For now, I moved it to another part of the back yard so that my new bike, which I already named "Kitty" could have the coveted spot in our bike rack.
For the next several weeks I rode Kitty as often as possible. To meet my husband for lunch, to run errands, or just for fun. I put a basket on Kitty so I could carry items around easily. For my 28th my birthday, F got me a little mirror that went on the handlebars so I could see cars behind me, which I was grateful for, since I was still nervous about riding in traffic.
I attended the next Critical Mass again, along with F and K, and J, who is another guy from my husband's work who rides a fixie. On my new bike I felt much more confident, and the ride to Santa Monica pier was much easier this time around. I was still determined not to fall behind during the actual event, however!
While we waited for things to get going, F was approached by a young lady named L who, to my surprise, rode a fixed gear bike just like F, K, and J. There was a time when I could hardly tell a fixie from any other bike, but since hanging out with F, I had begun to recognize them at first sight. Their simplicity was striking. I was surprised to meet L, however, because I wasn't even aware that many girls rode fixed gear bikes. F acknowledged that L was once of the few, but she could do more tricks than he could.
Tricks. That was another thing I didn't quite get. Why would you want to do tricks on your bicycle? Did they serve any purpose, or was it just for show? In any case, I was impressed to see L with her bike. She looked so... well, cool. For an instant I felt like I was back in high-school looking at the lead cheerleader and I felt a flash of envy.
I am naturally attracted to things that are said to be a man's domain. This earned me the label of tomboy in school because I was always determined to be just as good as the boys in anything. I was the only girl who was willing to play rough sports like rugby with them. If I got hurt, I tried to take it like a boy and not show my pain. I'm not sure exactly what I was trying to prove. Maybe that a scrawny little girl such as myself wasn't as frail as I looked.
Even my current profession is a complete boys' club. Of course, that's been changing over the years, but there are still far less women in my industry than there are men. And it may be much less physical than rugby but I still feel a deep-rooted need to prove myself, to show that I can hold my own. It's what drives me.
And once I realized that fixed gear bikes are largely ridden by males and that F could count on one hand the number of girls he's seen on fixies here in LA, I began to feel, deep inside, that little competitive twinge. A tiny urge to join the Los Angeles fixed gear girls and strengthen their ranks. But I soon pushed that thought out of my mind because I had Kitty now, and I loved this bike.
Critical Mass, unfortunately, was a bit of a mess (and thankfully, not because of me or my bike). The Santa Monica cops were out in full force, pulling riders over and ticketing them for anything and everything. At the previous Critical Mass, there had been a couple cops keeping an eye on things, and a couple people did get tickets for running red lights. But this time, it was insane. It was as if every cop in Santa Monica was assembled to prevent Critical Mass from happening. There was definitely a sense of paranoia as we rode, trying to make our way to Venice where the cops wouldn't be able to follow us anymore. I was especially nervous I might make some sort of mistake, and get ticketed for it even though I knew I was being lawful.
F and K and I decided to cut out a bit early since the ride seemed a little disjointed this month, and we were joined by C, a friend of F's on flickr. She also seemed like a hardcore bike girl, and she rode a cool looking mountain bike. Anyway, we all went back to the Whaler and had some food and beer. I had a fun night and I was just glad that I didn't cause us to fall behind, and that I didn't get into any embarrassing collisions. In fact, F humored me by joking that I was going too fast for him to keep up. Ha ha.
I work from home, so no commuting is involved other than the commute to my closet to decide whether or not I want to get dressed or stay in my pajamas all day.
However, a lot of people at my husband's job commute to work via bicycle. My husband and I befriended one of these people, F, who is originally from Portland, and who is really into bikes and the whole bike scene. He also just so happens to ride a fixed gear bike.
At first I could not comprehend the benefit of riding fixed. Why would you not want gears? Why would you not want to coast? Coasting is fun! And most importantly, why on earth would you not want brakes?! I was aware that a lot of bike messengers in NYC rode fixed but didn't think anything of it other than it must be somehow tied to being a professional bike rider (much like professional track athletes in a velodrome), and not so much something an average joe would ride.
But it turned out 2 other people at my husband's small company also rode fixed gear bikes. Apparently this was more common than I realized.
Anyway, F, being, as I said, into the whole LA bike scene, told me about a monthly event called Critical Mass and encouraged me to come to the next one. Like fixed gear bikes, Critical Mass was something I had vaguely heard of before, but it always sounded sort of anarchistic and dangerous. I understood it to be some sort of crazy bike protest where cyclists would run red lights, cause mayhem, and get arrested.
F acknowledged that some Critical Masses in some cities can get a little out of hand, but he assured me that the Santa Monica Critical Mass was an easygoing, peaceful celebration of bicycles and that it was perfect for a beginner like me to join in.
I was really hesitant to go along at first, since I wasn't sure whether F might be sugarcoating things just because he wanted someone to ride with. Earlier on he had confided in me that he was relatively new to LA as well, and didn't have many friends who liked to ride bikes yet, so I assumed he was hoping I might fill that void.
After my first embarrassing attempt to ride my bike, my confidence was shaken and I was afraid to join all these other experienced riders at Critial Mass and fall behind, crash into someone, or worse. But after much pleading on F's part, I relented and agreed to give it a shot. I also tried to convince my husband to join in, but he was definitely not one bit interested in taking part. He's obviously better at saying "no" than I am.
That Friday I picked up my bike at my husband's workplace. (I had left it there since the flat tire incident, having decided to walk back home sans bike after lunch that day). F pumped the tires for me at work and assured me that my bike was good to go.
From there, I followed F (and K, who was another fixie rider from my husband's work), and we set off for the Santa Monica Pier. We took Main street, which is a bustling road, but it has its own bike lane. Even so, I felt both thrilled and terrified by riding alongside cars. My bike, luckily, felt 110% better now that my tires actually had air in them. I couldn't believe the difference it made!
However, even though it rode like an actual bicycle, and not like a sand-crawler, I realized I was still out of shape. Just taking the slight incline towards the Santa Monica pier was enough to have me out of breath and sweaty. F slowed down to accommodate me and made encouraging remarks like "Yeah, this hill is tough", even though I'm sure he could have ridden it in his sleep. Backwards.
There was one more short, but steep hill right before we turned towards the pier, and I could already feel my legs turning to jelly. By this point my mood had deteriorated rapidly and I was having serious second thoughts about going to Critical Mass. I was way out of my league. I could barely ride my bike to Critical Mass, how was I going to ride in it?
Things got even worse when, after rolling down a small hill towards the pier, I wasn't able to slow my bike down in time and I collided with the back of F's bike, breaking his rear light. I felt like such a fool! I wanted to give up right then and call my husband to come pick me and my bike up and take us home. But F was still very encouraging and insisted that the light looked even better broken, and that everything was fine. Still, I felt terrible and I promised to buy him a new one.
We reached the pier where dozens of cyclists were assembled. F was right - there was a wide variety of people (and bikes) here. Not everyone looked hardcore. But when one of the organizers stood up and began giving everyone a pep talk and warning people what to do in case the police intervened, I began to get nervous again and had second, third and fourth thoughts about going through with this.
But I hate to call myself a quitter so I bit my tongue and mentally made a deal with myself to at least try a few minutes and if I was still miserable, I could think about bailing. After much waiting around, everyone began to depart amidst a cacophony of bells, horns and whistles.
There were so many of us that we practically filled up the whole road, stopping traffic from getting through. But it was an impressive sight to see so many bicycles streaming down the street like a swarm of colorful bees. At first I was extremely focused on not crashing into anyone. The pack was tight and there were a few sudden stops and starts before things really got moving. But as we rolled back down main street, it was cool to see bystanders call out and cheer, and to hear passing cars honking appreciatively, not angrily.
I actually began to enjoy this.
We rode down to Venice Beach and Abbott Kinney as the sun set and the sky grew dark. F stayed close the whole time even though I struggled to keep up with the bulk of the riders. But now that a little time had passed, I was definitely having fun, and really digging this unique experience.
At some point however, we lost sight of the main group and my bike began making a strange grinding noise. F suggested we just break off and ride through the Venice canals which he said were cool to see. I had no idea that Venice had canals and they were, indeed, cool to see. From there we went to Washington Blvd by the water, where there are a bunch of bars and restaurants.
I used my long cable lock to tether my bike to F's and K's, and we went into the Whaler for some food and drink. I was exhausted from my longest ride yet, and yet feeling pretty good about it overall. I was bummed that I wasn't able to keep up with the main group, however, although F and K assured me it was fine.
After some good veggie pizza and some beers, we finally left the Whaler at about midnight. I went to unlock our bikes but gasped in horror when my key broke off completely inside the lock. We spent the next 30 minutes trying to turn or pry loose the broken piece inside the lock, and trying to cut through the cable with other keys. But nothing worked. We even asked some policemen if they had wire-cutters we could use, but they didn't.
Eventually we realized that there was nothing we could do until we got a hefty pair of wire-cutters, and we called my husband to pick us up and take F and K home. We had no choice but to leave the bikes overnight. I felt bad because both F and K had decent bikes that were worth a lot more than mine and I really hoped that they would be ok overnight.
Between the flat tires, breaking F's rear light, and then the bike lock, as well as being generally out of shape, all my bike experiences had turned out to be pretty disastrous and I was feeling really bad about it.
The next day F and I went to Home Depot and picked up a heavy-duty pair of wirecutters. We returned to the place where we had locked our bikes and thankfully, everything was intact.
I'm not sure what was more disturbing, though... being able to cut through the cable so easily, or the fact that we did it in broad daylight in a busy area and no one questioned us!
We had intended to get bikes upon our return to New York, but autumn was quickly making way for winter, bringing bitter cold weather mixed with flurries of snow. Needless to say, our motivation to get bikes and ride outdoors dwindled.
But on my 27th birthday, just a month after our honeymoon, my husband surprised me with a new bike. It was just the one I had wanted. Weeks earlier, I had spied it on the rack in Kmart. It was a Huffy Santa Fe beach cruiser, and it looked really similar to my first beloved childhood bike. And it was a good price - only $100!
I wanted to take it for a test ride right away, but by that time snow and ice were heavy upon the ground and I knew I'd have to wait until the weather got warmer. So we put the bike in the basement and I would look longingly at it each time I came downstairs to do the laundry.
My husband also said that once the weather warmed up he'd get himself a bike as well, so we could ride together.
But once spring arrived and the snow melted, riding bikes were one of the last things on our minds. My husband was offered a job across the country, in California, and after much discussion, he decided to accept it. He moved out there almost right away while I stayed behind in NY to pack up the house. By this time it was late March and I realized it was now the perfect weather to start riding my bike, but somehow it didn't feel right to take it on its maiden voyage without my husband there to see me enjoy it. Plus, months of storage had caused the tires to get a little low and I wasn't exactly sure how to air them up.
When the moving truck came I watched them load my bike on the truck knowing it would be waiting for me in Sunny California. I would ride it then.
I finally joined my husband in LA in July, about 3 months after he left. In the interim he had bought himself a bike at a little bike shop down the street. It was a black crusier-style Firmstrong Urban. He had bought it with the intention of riding it around and to work and back, since he didn't have the car until I arrived there. But he admitted that he had never actually ridden the bike - not even once! The one and only time he had tried it out was to bring it the few blocks home from the bike shop - and on the sidewalk at that.
My husband was nervous about riding on the streets and really worried about hazards such as car doors opening suddenly and cars clipping him as they passed by. I could sympathize. This was something that made me nervous as well. Neither of us had any real experience riding in traffic.
Another reason my husband was uneasy was because a friend of his from college, who was a bike messenger in Portland, had been recently killed by a passing truck. She was in a bike lane and the truck wasn't even going very fast... it was incredibly sad to hear the news of her passing. I knew this girl too, although I wasn't friends with her like my husband was. Even so, knowing someone who was killed while riding a bike is a sobering reminder of how dangerous it can be. And even though I didn't know her well, she was a sweet girl and I can't help but think of her every time I put on my bike helmet.
But despite these fears I wanted to ride my bike - and ride it safely - with my husband at my side. Speaking of my bike, it did not get across the country unscathed. My husband reluctantly revealed to me that it had come off the moving truck with the fork somehow bent at a 90 degree angle. Confused, I asked "You mean the wheel and handlebars were turned at a 90 degree angle?" and he said "No, wheel was turned 90 degrees, but the handlebars were straight. But don't worry, I bent it back into shape!" I'm still not exactly sure what he was talking about, but my bike now appeared to be in ok shape, and that's all that mattered to me.
The next task was to air up the tires. I bought a cheap little pump and asked my husband to help me out, since I wasn't sure how to do it. He wasn't any more sure than I was, but we figured it out together and it didn't seem complicated at all... just unscrew the valve cap, stick the nozzle over the valve, lock it, and pump until the tires felt firm. I watched my husband do his tires, and then I volunteered to pump my own tires, feeling very accomplished.
Once our tires were aired up I tried to convince my husband to ride with me somewhere, anywhere. But he was busy with work during the weekdays and his weekends were filled with freelance. So I suggested riding bikes together to his work in the morning as a way to start the day. But he seemed reluctant to do this too, preferring just to walk.
Eventually I realized that in the past 9 months since our honeymoon bike ride, my husband had gradually lost the urge to ride a bike, while my own urge to ride had only grown stronger and stronger. I was disappointed, but undeterred. I was convinced that my husband was just nervous to get on a bike, and that if I started riding by way of example, he would surely follow suit.
So a couple days later I made the decision to ride my birthday bike for the first time since I had received it, 8 months prior. I was going to brave the traffic and ride to my husband's work and have lunch with him. I was nervous, I'll admit it. I had never ridden in traffic - not even once. All sorts of horrors flashed through my head. But part of me knew that it was this same irrational fear that kept my husband at bay, and I was determined not to succumb.
So I gathered my wits and started off down my residential street. His workplace was only a mile away on level ground... how hard could it be? I even purchased a helmet for the occasion. Now, let me just say, I have always hated wearing helmets. I refused to as a child, despite my parents' urging. My head is small and most helmets look ridiculous on me. I had tried on some women's helmets at our local Target, but even my husband admitted that they looked really odd and over-sized on my head. Eventually I settled on a junior skateboarding helmet that was certified by the CPSC. Even though it was made for juniors, it was snug on my skulll. It still looked dumb and bulky, but because it was a skateboarding helmet, and because it had silly decals on it, it was dumb looking in purposeful sort of way, like geek chic. (Or so I told myself!)
Anyway, I set off on my short journey, and by the time I reached the end of the block, I was already panting and wheezing. What was wrong with me? Was I that out of shape?
Riding my bike felt like I was trying to plow through sand - each pedal stroke took a straining effort. I kept pushing forward, and turned onto the main road which has a steady flow of 30mph traffic. I had been so nervous about riding with traffic, but now it was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was getting to my husband's workplace without passing out from exhaustion.
I did notice that the cars gave me a wide berth and I didn't feel like I was in any danger riding alongside them, so that was good. And I wasn't able to go very fast, anyway, so car doors were not much of a threat anyway.
At each stop sign I would pause and gasp for breath. Was the way to my husband's work actually uphill? It didn't look like it was uphill, but it certainly felt like it.
6 blocks later I finally made it to his workplace, severely out of breath, my heart pounding. My muscles felt like jelly and I was sorely disappointed. I had such lofty hopes for riding my bike everywhere. After riding a mile in agony, I could not imagine wanting to ride my bike anywhere. I'd rather walk, drive, crawl-- anything!
I knew for a fact that it had not been this hard to ride a bike in Japan. Was there something wrong with my bike, then? I guess I shouldn't have waited so long to test-ride it. Or had I just gotten in worse shape over the last 9 months?
When my husband came outside to greet me, he was shocked to see me still out of breath. I told him about my difficulties and said I was worried there was something wrong with my bike. I asked him to get on it and try it out and see if he thought it was hard to pedal.
So he got on and as soon as he sat on the seat I realized what the problem was. Both tires were completely flat!
Apparently I had messed up on trying to blow up my tires the other day. Either I didn't place the nozzle over the valve properly, or I neglected to lock it in place. Either way, my tires had completely deflated since then and I was basically running on empty.
Needless to say, I felt like a fool. But everyone begins somewhere, right?
It was my husband who actually got me to get back on a bike after all these years. We were on our honeymoon in Japan and we were both impressed to see how many people rode bikes around. At that time, we lived in Westchester, NY, near White Plains. In our part of town it was uncommon to see many cyclists except for the most serious riders, decked out in spandex and whizzing down the local bike paths. The streets, however, were largely devoid of people on bikes. Perhaps this is because the roads there, in general, are not very well suited to sharing with cyclists, as most of them are very narrow and winding (it was often nerve-wracking enough to drive on some of them, let alone make room for a cyclist). So when we saw so many people - of all ages- riding bikes all over Tokyo and Kyoto, we were pleasantly surprised.
My husband then pointed out that our hotel in Kyoto had free bicycle rentals and suggested we take some for a spin. I was excited at the prospect but once we actually signed up for the bikes I was suddenly nervous. It had been so long since I'd ridden a bike... would I still be able to do it? My husband just laughed and said "there's a reason behind the saying 'it's just like riding a bike'!"
He then hopped on his and began doing laps around the hotel parking area. I figured it he could do it, so could I, particularly since my husband is a nervous sort who doesn't really relish new or risky experiences. So I hopped on my bike only to realize I was a little wobbly, and I seemed to have forgotten how to use brakes since, upon rolling down a tiny slope in the lot, I panicked and tried to use my feet to stop!
But after that initial hiccup, my muscle memory seemed to wake up and we began our random journey through Kyoto. One odd thing about riding in Japan is that it seems nobody rides their bikes on the roads. Everyone rides on the sidewalks alongside the pedestrians. This sounds like a recipe for disaster, but most of these cyclists are going at a relaxed pace and make a lot of use out of their little handlebar mounted bells, alerting everyone in their path that they're coming through.
As a pedestrian, it was annoying to hear that little dingdingding! and be expected to move aside for someone on a bicycle every 2 minutes. Now my husband and I were in the role of the cyclists and found we were reluctant to return the favor. Something about using the bells seemed so rude, especially since we were Americans visiting another country. Who were we to ding at someone, telling them to move over for us?
So we just went slowly and stopped when necessary to let a person cross ahead of us. It was a little slow going, and my husband was visibly shaken when a young boy pulled away from his mother and ran right in the path of his bike. Luckily, he managed to stop in time, for we were not going very fast.
Anyway, there were only a few areas that were really congested and hard to get through. Many of the sidewalks were empty and wide and we were able to pick up some speed.
When we stopped to visit some shops we were impressed by the rows of bikes parked neatly out front - most of them without locks. If anything, people would simply lock the back wheel to the bike frame, I suppose to prevent people from riding away on the bike. But it did nothing to prevent the dastardly person who simply wanted to pick up the bike and carry it off. But crime in Japan is low and it seemed unlikely that anyone would try to haul off a bike in broad daylight, especially since these bikes weighed a frickin ton.
So we lined our bikes up with the rest of them (locking the back wheels to the frames since we're American, and therefore distrusting) and went shopping. Once done, our bikes were still where we left them and we retrieved them from the row. However, my handlebars got caught on the bike next to me, and while trying to disengage them, I caused a horrifying domino effect where every bike in the row collapsed upon the next with a deafening crash. Horrified, I rushed to pick up the fallen bikes and a clerk inside the nearby convenience store also rushed out to help, although he did not look one bit pleased. I tried to apologize the best I could in my limited Japanese!
It was nearing time to return the bikes, and we came across a long winding downhill that looked too fun to resist. Even though my husband pointed out that if we went all the way down we'd have to come back up, I was willing to make that compromise.
So we whizzed down that enormous hill and for the first time in ages, I remembered the unbridled joy of coasting fast, the wind in my hair, and I could hardly believe that I had gone so long without riding a bike.
At the bottom we took a break and then ventured back up the hill. However we were horribly out of shape and there was no way we could ride up, so we ended up walking the bikes to the top. Embarrassingly, we were passed by all manner of old lady, casually riding up the hill like it was no big deal. One of them was even pedaling up while holding a dog leash in one hand!
I admit I felt rather sad when it came time to return the bikes. Although I had been a little rusty, I had had a great time. Even my husband seemed to enjoy himself and he promised me that once we got back to New York, we would buy bikes and ride the bike paths together, which delighted me.
I could hardly wait.
So I'm pretty much new to bikes in general. I mean, not completely, because I did learn to ride when I was a kid. In fact, I taught myself to ride long after my parents had given up on running behind me, coaching me to stay balanced on my own. It seemed to be an impossible feat and each session would end with my parents out of breath and with me in tears of frustration. So the training wheels went back on and it seemed I was doomed to be the only kid in the neighborhood who couldn't ride a bike.
Until one day, when I was about 7, I decided I had to learn, once and for all. I had my dad take the training wheels off and I practiced outside for what seemed like hours (although who knows how long it really took) while the neighborhood kids circled around me, jeering.
And then it came - that sudden sense of perfect equilibrium and there I was, riding on two wheels! I had kind of hoped the kids who had been taunting me would suddenly discover a newfound respect for me, for now I was one of them! I had graduated from the infant realm of tricycles and training wheels into the two-wheel "big kid" zone. However, my accomplishment went largely ignored. The neighborhood kids simply grew bored and left me alone, realizing there was nothing left to make fun of. Although one boy did at least acknowledge me with a "big deal."
I loved that bike. It was a sparkly blue cruiser which I had picked out from the rack at Toys R Us for my birthday. It had tassles on the ends of the handlebars and neon-colored clackers on the spokes. And the best part was the long seat - big enough for two- with a little sissy bar in the back. The vinyl seat was covered in images of fluffy clouds.
When my family moved to England, the bike came with us because I couldn't bear to let it go, even though it was expensive moving everything overseas. Once there, I rode it almost every day around the block, around and around. Our little neighborhood was so safe, my brother and I didn't even lock our bikes up - we just propped them up outside the duplex. But, after two years of being left untouched, they were suddenly stolen.
The police eventually recovered my brother's bike, slightly dented and a little worse for wear. Mine was gone for good.
I felt like I had lost a dear friend. I was especially bitter because they didn't sell beach cruisers quite like that in England, (or at least not in the town where we lived). Mine was a distinctly "American" bike and it was irreplaceable. My parents tried to reason with me, saying that I was outgrowing that bike anyway, and it was time for a new one. They then picked out my next bike for me - a cream colored Raleigh that also had the benefit of being portable and foldable, which I think is what mostly attracted my parents. However, I honestly found it to be mildly grotesque and I was suspicious of a bike that could contort in that manner. It was, in truth, a very nice bike, and I'm sure it cost much more than my first Toys R Us bike. It was a much more mature bike with gears and brake levers, it looked very refined and British. But I just never could get into riding it... it wasn't the same.
For the next few years, after we moved back to the States, it sat untouched and collecting dust in the garage. The next time I dared to ask my parents for another bike was when I was about 14. However, they were still bitter over the fact that I had this nice Raleigh in the garage that I never rode. The truth was I had long since outgrown the Raleigh, during my teenage growth spurts. But it was clear my parents were not willing to risk getting me another bike that would not be used.
So I went through the rest of my teenage years, college, and young adult life without riding a bike. And, to be honest, while I missed it at times, it didn't bother me enough that I felt compelled to go out and get a new bike. Part of it was based on fear because I knew that being an adult with a bike would mean riding on real roads. I mean, it wasn't like I was a little kid anymore, content to do laps around the block. I was a little nervous about the idea of riding with traffic, even though I didn't have a car and I'm sure a bike would have given me a little more freedom and independence to get around.
Until I actually got on a bike again, after almost 14 years, I had no idea how much I really missed it...
