Bicycles

Well, we did NOT buy bicycles this weekend. I had an emotional meltdown in the auto parts aisle instead. I had my heart set on an old-fashioned bike, the kind with coaster brakes and no speeds, a twin of the bike I had as a child. John said, “Are you crazy? You don’t want that,” and stomped off the automotive aisle.

I had a meltdown because it felt like yet once more, when I knew what I wanted – someone was there to tell me I was wrong. Like when I was a kid, and my mother asked me which dress did I want. I’d point to the red one.

She’d say, “No you don’t want that one – you want this one.” And she’d pick out the frilly pink one.

“But I DO want the red one. I love red.”

“No,” she would say, “You don’t. Little girls do not wear red.”

“But then why did you ASK me if you were going to pick it out?” And I’d get in trouble for talking back, all the while wondering why I’d been asked my opinion when it didn’t matter anyway. Next Sunday all through church, I’d spend a miserable hour in the frilly pink thing, all the while thinking non stop about the red dress the color of flames.

Bicycles are emotionally charged things for me. I’ve mentioned that as a child, we received few presents. One of the family traditions was receiving your first ‘grown up’ bike on your 8th birthday.

On my 8th birthday, I raced downstairs – and the living room was empty. There was a card on the table. I snuffled back my tears. I made it through breakfast until I started crying. “It’s my birthday and there’s no present,” I bawled. My parents were horrified and raced me out to the garage.

They hadn’t forgotten my birthday – they’d forgotten to wheel the bike from the garage into the living room! It was raining the night before, so rather than tackle the task in the rain, they’d meant to sneak it into the living room in the morning.

There it was in the garage; a shiny, blue, 1977 Columbia Roadster. I fell in love.

My bike became my constant companion…I rode it to school, to the library, around the neighborhood. It meant freedom! I didn’t have to depend on a grownup to go where I want; I could go to my friend’s house, the park, anywhere…just me and my bike.

The sight of me pedaling around Floral Park in my school uniform skirt, I am told, was something many people remember about me from those days…the kids used to make fun of me for looking like the Wicked Witch of the West on her bike. Remember that from the Wizard of Oz – the real lady in Dorothy’s town, the one who put Toto in the basket on her bike? I had a basket like that, and my Catholic school uniform kind of looked like the mean lady’s dress. I thought it was funny and kept on riding. I didn’t much care what the other kids thought. My bike was part of me.

As with many childhood toys, it became ‘uncool’ to ride a bike to high school, so my poor beloved bike languished in the garage for many years until I was in college. John and I had started dating by then and I wanted to ride my bike for exercise. Unfortunately, the tires were flat, the brakes didn’t work, and rust had set in. John tried to take apart the bike to fix it, but he couldn’t get it back together again. The brakes were ruined.

I told him not to bother – just throw it out.

There are two things I regret getting rid of: my bike and my piano. At the time, I got rid of both for good reasons. The bike ended up in the garbage, the piano ended up as a birthday present for a little girl who started crying in my home when her dad took her to pick it up (which sort of made it okay, even now, since I know she loved that piano as much as I did – her eyes were shining when she set eyes on it, and she hugged her dad so tight I thought she’d never let him go). Now I’m kicking myself for getting rid of that bike!

I’d never ridden a bike with speed gears; I had no idea how to work them. I also never rode a bike with hand brakes. A friend let me ride her bike. On my first test ride, I nearly crashed because I forgot how to work the brakes. I must have had the bike on the wrong speed setting, too, because it was like peddling through molasses! Frustrated and angry, I gave up riding bikes. I felt totally uncoordinated. I wanted my blue bike back but it was gone for good.

Now here we are, ten years later and I spot a near-twin for my old Columbia Roadster. We’ve dreamed of riding our bikes around these back roads, taking them on the new Rail Trail that’s opening this summer. Plenty of wide open country spaces. I could ride my bike to visit my friends, I could ride it for fun. And lo and behold, Wal Mart has old fashioned bikes with coaster brakes and big white walls…and the lady’s bike is BLUE like my old Columbia Roadster.

Oh, how I wanted that bike. I thought and thought and said: yes, this is the one I want.

I’m a grownup. I’ve supposed to have put childish things behind me. But my heart longed for that bike…or so I thought.

And then my hubby has to ruin it for me.

I caught up with him as he was checking out the motor oil across the Wal Mart. “You’re making me feel like I’m a child again and my parents are insisting I don’t want a red dress, because little girls don’t wear red, only it’s my favorite color,” I tell him. He seems surprised. He had no idea how upset I was.

There’s a point at which being ‘obedient’ to one’s husband means something pretty darn simple; listening. I wasn’t going to buy the blue bike if he was this mad about it. So I listened to what he had to say.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to get what you want,” he said. “It’s that I think you’re going to hate it later. The speeds help you make those big hills…think about the ride to the bridge (the crossing between Appomattox and Prince Edward counties, where we take long walks in the spring and fall with Shadow). It’s a huge hill. You aren’t going to make it with a one speed bike.” He paused. “I just want you to have fun, and I don’t think you’re going to have fun on that old blue one for what we want to do.” Another pause. “I want you to be happy.”

That’s different from: no, you can’t have it.

I’m glad I asked and didn’t sulk.

I knew his logic was smart…we share the same dream of spending lazy spring afternoons peddling around the country roads….I know I have to grow up….I think I want to recreate those childhood moments of feeling like I was flying on that bike, the sense of freedom….but it’s 2009, not 1979, and I need to live in the present moment….

With regret, I said goodbye to the blue bike. It is still in Wal Mart in Farmville if you are interested in it.

We left without buying bikes, but now I am considering the purple one with the simple speeds. They’re written on the shift thing like gears on a car. If it’s like a car, I could handle it. On the way home from town, John started explaining to me how bike gears work…and he promised he’d show me how to use them. I made him promise to be patient with me as I learn this new fangled thing called hand brakes and gears.

I think I’m a closet Luddite.

A purple 26″ mountain bike that can also go on the roads means I can bike to see my friends. I could climb hills on that thing.

Purple is my second favorite color.

Maybe some days, we just have to grow up…and let go of our past…but gosh, even as I turn 40, it is so hard!