Today, I decided to get the bike out after letting it hibernate for nearly three years. This being the mountains, there are hills in our neighborhood. Every street is a hill. A mini-mountain. After 100 yards, my legs began to squeal. The brakes squealed, too.
In the old days, I rode 10 miles every day with ease. My best was 70 miles in one day. Not today. Today, I managed only 10 blocks. The Mystery Woman said she could hear the squeals as I rounded every corner. Mine or the bike’s she didn’t say.
Riding a bike is a great way to see the neighborhood -- from the ground up. Several times, I almost lost it. Wobbly. Once, as I rounded a corner, a woman on the sidewalk ran for cover. She left the sidewalk and headed straight for a stranger's porch. At flank speed.
When I finally made it to our home turf, my legs were tuckered. I could barely climb the three steps up the porch where the Mystery Woman was in tears from laughing so hard.
Tomorrow, we’ve going to start over. I think we’ll pack a lunch and ride to the corner.