Tour de SOHOE. In which I ride a bike : Part one

Biking (of the self-propelled kind) has become a big thing here among us Nuts. J recently replaced her old clunker and One got an upgrade, which has trickled down through the ranks so that even Five has moved up from the old wobbly red and white metal trike, to a low-slung blue and yellow plastic beast he calls his 'odo-cycle'.

Thinking that it would be fun to join them when they take to the roads like ducks-on-wheels, I borrowed J's spiffy new machine for a ride to the bank. It has several key features I must point out:
- it is upright. Very important because really, who wants to be looking at their own armpits the whole time?
- it has a rather nicely padded seat. Surely I needn't explain the relevance of that.
- the seat is on a suspension post = added comfort!
- it has fenders. No worrying about mud or stones flying up at you whilst you labour joyfully up those hills!
- it has gears. I only mention them because they feature in the story I'm about to tell you.
- the technology of gears has changed somewhat since I last owned or rode a bike with any seriousness. (20 years?)

Off I toddled, having first lowered the seat somewhat (I did not inherit the Tall Gene) and realized that I was still very far off the ground. It seemed to take considerable effort to gain momentum, but soon enough I was charging full steam ahead quite gleefully. Then I realized the corner was approaching much more quickly than I'd anticipated (the scenery moves faster on a bike than when walking) and I was going to have to stop. I quickly reviewed the hand signals, and planned to stop at the curb so my toes could gain purchase... the ground being so far down. Only there was a car parked where I needed the curb, so I closed my eyes hoping for no traffic, and swooped out onto the road. Phew!

Then came the adventure of crossing the main road. I was able, this time, to pull up alongside the curb, and waited carefully for a break in traffic before pedaling forward. Only the gears were set so high (or low... which is it?) it needed Rocky Bilboa or Lance Armstrong to turn the wheels. I was standing up on the pedals, pushing as hard as I could and inching along like a snail through molasses, and the cars which had been tiny and far far away were getting larger and closer with every massive effort of my legs.

Never fear! I made it across, and began to play with the complicated shifting system. I say complicated because the way it used to work is there would be a little dial on one handle bar that read 1,2,3 and you would flick an indicator to one or the other while pedaling backwards. Now, there are options on both handlebars, but one says high / low, while the other has numbers or arrows, and you're supposed to work both in tandem for optimum efficiency. I wasn't even looking for efficient - I was going to be happy with moving forward without dying.

The nice thing about being on a bicycle is that you move at a decent clip, but still are able to really see things as you go by (unless you're on one of those hunched-over bikes, in which case you get to see your armpits while travelling rather briskly). I was enjoying myself immensely, noticing the trilliums and other growing things, birdsong and trickling water. Very pastoral and I felt quite virtuous for not being in the car. Feeling virtuous adds greatly to the golden glow of pastoral scenery.

However. The library and even more so the bank sit up on a hill. One of those deadly sorts which is not all that steep but goes on for donkey's years. I didn't know what to do about the gears, so I just kept pushing those pedals as I began to wheeze. I could feel my face turning red, but whether from embarassment or near certain collapse I couldn't tell you. Just before I gained the library parking lot, I had to stop. I had to get off the bike, and that seemed the perfect spot, because it would look like I was being safety-minded in walking the bike through the parking lot. The tricky thing is that a) I'm short; b) the bike is not; c) and most significantly, my legs were mush. I had to somehow haul one leg over the bar of the bike. I have no memory of how I accomplished it, but evidently I did, because I locked the dratted thing safely to the side of the library, and then had to walk the rest of the way up the hill... up... up... up to the bank. Nearly there, I took advantage of an articulated Beer Store truck attempting a very tight turn as an excuse to stop and watch the poor man execute a 17-point turn to catch my breath somewhat.

I have no idea what the bank teller thought of me, in the condition I was in but she carried out my business in very quick order. Back down the hill I walked and took the machine grimly in hand for the trip home. Which went much more smoothly, with little incident, so that by the time I got home, I'd determined I would very much like to be one of the Nuts on wheels, and so would get a Bike of My Own.