Bicycle built for none

I can’t remember the last time I rode a bike . Maybe 15 years? But I remember now since my wife and I decided to take a bike ride after our morning workout today.

Back in the day I recall riding for hours on end, racking up mile after mile across all kinds of different terrain. So it didn’t seem like too much of a stretch when I declared we should take a 10 mile ride around our subdivision. “Shouldn’t be too bad,” I thought. “Maybe take a half hour or so?”

First of all, I’m as shitty at math as I am at riding a bike. My 30 minute estimate would have meant I was averaging a mile every three minutes which means I would have been biking like 60 miles per hour. Instead, I finished my first mile in 6:38. My friend, Zach, regularly runs miles faster than that. I can just picture him running while I’m biking and going as hard as I can while yelling, “Wait, Zach! Wait for me! Stop foolin’!”

Truth be told, I could have biked a little faster — in fact my fastest mile ended up being 4:49 (somehow still slower than the fastest mile ever run by a human) — but it’s just my butt was in worse bike shape than my heart and lungs. Every pump of my legs sent that tiny little seat crawling farther up my ass. By the time I was on mile three that thing was so far in my rear you could have stuck an apple in my mouth and thrown me over a fire.

Oh, and did you catch that part where I mentioned we decided to bike after our workout? Yeah, we spent the immediate half hour before doing a series of squats and lunges. So at one point my legs were so wobbly I asked my wife what would be worse than having Jell-O legs? We decided on pudding legs. Yes, I was fighting the ole’ pudding legs pretty bad for most of the trip.

But probably the most humbling part was realizing that while you never forget to learn how to ride a bike, you certainly forget how to ride a bike well. A few times I tried to stand up and pedal like the good old days only to find my fat foot slipping off and damn near giving me a second vasectomy on that bar thing.

Side note: why the hell do the guys’ bikes have the nut-crusher bar? Is it supposed to be ironic or something?

Oh, and once I tried to wave to someone walking by and when I took one hand off the handlebars my bike started swerving out of control so badly I almost landed in a mailbox. And since today was Memorial Day no one would have found me until Tuesday.

Needless to say, I didn’t attempt the “look ma, no hands” technique that I perfected as a youth. In fact, I needed both hands to apply liberal amounts of ointment when I got done with my ride.

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