Failure to Launch

Maestro, music please.


It is time--it is time, to ride!

I stand tall, adjust my backpack to a snug fit, and walk onto the patio to retrieve my new bike. "Ahh.." I stumble on sliding door track but I land undeterred outside. It'sok, at least I still look cool. Or, until, I see my helmet hanging from handle.

Wait, wait, pause the music for a moment.

Too embarrassed to struggle with it outside, I grudgingly grab the helmet, rush toward my bathroom mirror--"Hmm, ahh, ouch,"--"click." Sigh of relief.

Now, I'm cool and covered in case I wipe out on the pavement.

I awkwardly pull my bike from my patio, inside, through the heavy metal door, through another heavy metal door, drag it down a flight of stairs, another heavy metal door. I must live in a motel.

Sunshine casts down on my egg-shaped helmet and my Raybans. I'm feeling ready to embark on my first bike ride around Lorton. I hope that drivers have mercy on my soul since it's a little after rush hour.

OK, music!

I kick the stand, hop on, and away...Stop. Stop. I look at the seat cover on the ground. It stubbornly stares at me. Instructions to myself: kick-stand-down, balance bike, pick up seat cover, re-adjust, pull cord tightly, lock in place, right-o.

One more time!

Up goes the stand, up goes me onto the seat, one swift motion, and we're riding.

Oh gawd, I haven't rode a bike in years....and look, here's a yellow curb, whoa!

I'm getting the hang of it again, all of those early childhood lessons are flooding back, and geez, wonder if is a metaphor for me at the moment.

I hear a: "plurck, plurck, plurck." Uh, that's probably not good. Bike, I command you to stop. Ah, maybe I press these handles--I come to an uncomfortable, sudden stop, jerking forward.

No one said biking was elegant.

I poke at my back tire. I press it again. I examine the tire for any obvious problems like small, entrapped animals, parts falling off. I'm no cycling expert.

Well, nothing obvious is wrong. Let me not lose my nerve--so I jump back onto the bike. I manage to dodge pedestrians and other cars to the end of my complex nearing a bike path (and major road). I'm panting with sweat beads already covering my face, it seemed unreasonably hard to push those 100 yards.

My neighbor's infant stares at me as I roll the bike up the incline next to the stairs, battle the glass door, and heave it back up the flight of stairs. I'd resigned in the fact my back tire needs maintenance, hopefully just some air. The combination of noise and feeling I was biking in a pool made me think better of biking on the Route 1 corridor. A good decision.

At this point, the music has died, but I'm feeling pretty alright. It wasn't exactly the trip I'd imagined but it's certainly a start.

R.