You Really Don't Forget How!

Today, I rode my bike for the first time in 8 years - since before my dear daughter was conceived. I hauled it out of the attic, filled the limp tires (they crackled a bit, which is worrisome). In its day, my bike was very stylish. It's a maroon Trek mountain bike that was purchased in 1992 from hard-earned savings from babysitting and cleaning bathrooms at a bed and breakfast. The poor girl (whose name is Stella) was covered in cobwebs and dust and in need of some TLC. After spraying W-D 40 on all metal parts and sniffing the satisfying fragrance of the spray and metal rubbing smoothly against metal, I mounted the old bike and took off down the street. Much to my joy, I did not forget how to ride. My hair streamed behind me - I had forgotten how fun it was to speed along on a bike.

I am sure that the comedy in my first try on two wheels in nearly a decade made my neighbors double over with laughter, but I don't care. My children cheered me on from the yard, then followed suit on their bikes, trying to catch me. We rode for over an hour. I taught them how to coast with their legs out over puddles, how to stand up and pedal for more speed. It's the most enjoyable time I've had with the kids in a long time. I am sure that my hamstrings will not be happy tomorrow, but I will remember how the kids thought I was supermom for that hour. Who knows? Maybe I'll take up riding again for recreation. It was just great to know I could still do it.