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July 02, 2003
Drunk, and in charge of a bicycle.
I hadn't ridden a bike since I was eighteen. Until 2 o'clock this morning.
spurred by sleeplessness and the bradbury collection I was reading (the introduction entitled: 'Drunk, and in Charge of a Bicycle", I pulled the least-crappy looking bike out of the rusting heap of bikes my family keeps in the garage and adjusted the seat so I could reach the pedals.
I picked it up and carried it through the house to the back porch so as not to wake anyone with the rickety garage door motor, checked the gears, the chain, the brakes - gave the tires a squeeze and was surprised to discover firmness there.
deep breath, I ease onto the still-too-big-for-my-5-foot-8-height-boy's bike, carefully avoiding racking my privates on the scarily-too-high support bar, and I ride.
there's nowhere to go at 2 in the suburbs, so I just circle around the places I used to ride when I was a kid.
- the high school parking lot (where I learned to drive and was told by my very very kind instructor that he'd give me an 'A' if I promised not to drive again)
- the public swimming pool (where I taught little kids that it's okay to open your eyes under chlorinated water, even though it hurts. where I swam every day in the summer between 8th and 9th grade, becoming a long, lean muscular blonde alien (another bradbury reference, i suppose) before starting high school)
- the Pickwick theatre, where I saw my first movie at age 5 (Bambi, my mom tells me) but I only remember the murals on the ceiling and the naked lady statue beckoning from the foyer of the mysterious "gentlemen's lounge" area...
- the hilly {yes, hilly} parts around downtown Park Ridge, where the oldest houses are, with the lush back and side and front yards, inexplicably lit at 3 in the morning for us night owls, I suppose.
- rounding back by the cemetery (I jumped the fence with my first high school boyfriend to see his own name on his grandfather's gravestone), I debated taking the forest preserve trails back to the house, but i remembered the creepy, muddy, unlit underpasses and decided to ride past the farmhouse (yes, in the middle of hard-core suburbia, with sidewalks and driveways and fire hydrants and marital dissatisfaction, there is a working farm. go figure) and through the depressing 50's development areas until I finally reach home again.
I bump up onto the curb and rack myself, hard on the godforsaken bike-frame-support thingy. I simply must thank my brother for mowing the lawn yesterday, as it made a very soft cushion for me, falling to my knees and whimpering in pain and hoping my neighbors aren't awake at 4 to see me lying there in my pyjamas, bicycle tangled around my knees and tears in my eyes.
no sleep for me, last night, I'm afraid. or this morning. but I did dream.
Posted by Heather at July 2, 2003 12:34 PM
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Comments
Two lovely posts in almost as many days. I've taken this post post post-adolescent bike ride as well. Took a whizz on the middle school back door in my weakest moment that morning. You are so much more civilized!
Posted by: N. at July 3, 2003 07:58 AM
What a lovely bicycle ride! I'm sufficiently inspired now to do the same.
Posted by: Glovia at July 3, 2003 09:46 AM
Love that titular line. I'd forgotten it. Guess I should dust those books off - if they ever get unpacked.
And I liked the toothbrush bit, too. So there.
Posted by: MeeeM at July 9, 2003 11:04 AM