The Orange Bike, Sadie & Me
Today I did something that I’m proud of: I got back on the bike. (As disgraced cyclist Lanc Armstrong might say, 😜)
I’ve been watching Sadie and my mom take special bike rides together the last couple years and I have been desperately jealous. Not just for the special time with Sadie, which has diminished since I got a dog, because she hates dogs and won't even go into my apartment when Peter isn't present. But for the knowledge that my legs could handle being on a bike again. Of this, I was not sure.
We all know that the last couple years have been terrible on my body, especially my balance and strength. I’ve had several bad falls just from walking. I’ve come home from my walks all bloodied and dirty and with a traumatized animal. And I fall indoors all the time. I rely on railings, I'm terrified of going down stairs while holding anything because that's how I broke my elbow in 2013, and generally any uneasy ground can cause me to need to take several deep breaths.
Looking at that orange bike, brand new in 2018, when it basically was my primary mode of transport, filled me with sadness about the last five years. I figured the bright beach cruiser was just another artifact from my prior life, one I could not reach back through time and touch. Then again, it was right there. Feet away. Seat lowered for my leg length.
I'll admit that I approached the orange bike with hesitation. I had so enjoyed our first dalliance, the summer of 2018, where every week would see me biking to the now defunct Jams on the Sand, to the fireworks in Asbury Park, and to the beach whenever I felt like it. Even when Kristie offered me a ride, I preferred to bike. It had become a habit and then a love; much like my obsession with walking this past year.
And then things fell apart for me...or is it better to say my disease progressed at a frightening rate? It did. It has. It continues to. But there was still a hopeful part of me that wished I could mount the bike and zoom down our lovely, wide streets.
And still, I was afraid. I wanted to be immediately steady so that when I biked with Sadie, she saw no sight of me fumbling with the kickstand, or missing a pedal as I climbed on. I only wanted her to see steadiness; maybe even grace. Which I'm certain is a thing she's never witnessed from me before, let's be honest. I am much too intimate with fart jokes and silly tee shirts and funny stickers and stick on tattoos. We operate on a different plane.
I got on the bike and it was, as they say, like riding a bike. My legs did what they needed to do, my peripheral vision didn't fail me at all, and I felt strong. I felt vibrant. I felt how I did five years ago when I was also approaching a bicycle after years of illness.
It felt so fucking wonderful to be on that bike. And I absolutely would have left it collecting dust if it weren't for Sadie. She asks my mom to go on bike rides all the time but she's never really asked me; or if she did before, she'd mostly stopped. But I got to tell her, after my short ride, that I was able to do it. That I was ready for her. The long smile on her face and the surprise in her eyes was something I won't forget.
She gave me a gift today, too. A reacquaintance with an orange bike, and a re-entry into a world I thought I'd left behind. And I gave myself the same gift today; all it took was a little bit of bravery.
