I have a bike.
A dream bike.
Light green (some may call it 'mint'), 3 speeds, circa 1970-something, old lady bike.
Free from my nice acupuncturist Laura.
I spent yesterday deep in the zen of cleaning her up. SOS pad, bucket of soapy water, rags -- cleaning off ancient mud on the wheel rims and scrubbing years of 'left out in the rain' rust. She looks pretty good.
And I am happy to report I just took her for my first spin. I was waiting, bored, on a beautiful Friday evening for Mark to get home from London. Already ate dinner. Nuthin on TV, bored with e-mail, laundry in the dryer, and light for 3 more hours. Dang, I'm going for a bike ride.
I bravely (remember my diatribe on cycling in Cambridge!) rode around my neighborhood, to the train station, around southern Cambridge, through the Mill Road cemetery (which I think that is going to be a fav) and EVEN tackled my Mill Road bridge fear (where busses and cars wiz by within an inch of one's life.)
But most of all, I really flashed back to the days when I was anywhere from 8-15 when the bike was the ticket to freedom. Cruising around Hales Corners -- KMart for Icees -- bumming around the schools -- checking out anything that resembled action. It was the after-supper bike ride when you just wanted some wind in the hair and to breath in summer. It helped that I was wearing flip flops and my new £2 apple green poncho to make the trip back to yesteryear.
Dang if I aren't proud of myself, and I know that sounds funny, but it is just a bit more stepping out and one step closer to my original vision of me in Cambridge, basket full of flowers and a poetry book, riding an old lady bike by the river -- long hair flowing. Maybe I can just get hair extensions and cut to the chase.