I got a bike. It was purchased with the intention of using it in lieu of a vehicle, since we only live about two miles from where I work. It has quickly become so much more.
When I told my husband I wanted to get a bike, he reacted with caution. His whole family cycles, avidly. They do weekly distances that I couldn’t touch in a year. It takes dedication to really ride a bike. And, let’s face it. I am creative. But dedicated, I am not.
I get bored quickly. I move on to new fads with a speed that is alarming, even to me.
So when I called Hubs a few weeks later, from the big city, to tell him I was buying a bike, he responded with reserved encouragement. I understood where he was coming from. Yes, biking is good. But probably I won’t do it long enough to get anything out of it.
When I got home, he realized that instead of buying a bike like this (which is a standard for the kinds of cyclists he’s grown up with):
I had, instead, reached into the life-long desires, begun in childhood, for a boardwalk bike. One that you ride up and down the broad planks by the ocean and onto the sand-dusted streets of the Jersey shore.
I wanted a bike I could ride to Heritage’s and back, to pick up bread. One with thick tires and a broad seat. A cruiser. With a basket on the handlebars.
I wanted a bike that made me smile when I looked at it, so that even when I didn’t want to ride a bike, I still wanted to ride THAT bike.
This is what I got:
(Mine has a basket on the front.) I LOVE IT. I feel like sunshiney music should be playing in the background every time I get on it.
And, bonus, it makes Hubs smile, too.