Welcome Spring. How I've missed you! I step outside on a warm, 70-degree day, greeted by the sweet smell of hyacinth; the light pink tulips, so delicate in their appearance, satisfying my artists eye. The days are noticeably longer. It isn't unusual for me to glance at the clock this time of year and announce "Oh wow! It's almost 6pm!" while realizing I haven't started dinner yet. It takes some getting used to.
It's also the time of year I pull out my bike, hoping she was spared winter's moisture (RUST). She looks good. Checking her tires, I see she is good to go - and I am as well. I'm like a kid who has been denied candy and presents during the holidays when it comes to biking. I miss it - deeply - during the winter months.
Simply put: I. Love. To. Ride.
I love the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the sense of absolute freedom as I whiz around, pushing myself uphill, relishing in the thrill of gathering speed as I then get the reward for my climb in the downhill descent. Dare I remove my feet from the pedals and let them dangle? Oh, I dare.
I remember when I first learned to ride. I was 6. My parents bought a $5 little red bike they picked up at a garage sale, and excitedly talked to me how fun it was going to be for them to teach me.
I totally burst their little parental fantasy. I had other plans.
I wanted to learn to ride on my own. I INSISTED on learning to ride on my own. Thankfully, my parents respected that. And learn to ride on my own, I did - in one afternoon. I came home from school, had my snack, and announced to my mom I was going to teach myself how to ride my bike.
"Where?" my mom asked.
"In the garage," I said, walking out the door.
My mom followed, concern in her voice. "I don't think there's enough room in the garage. And besides the floor is very hard. Maybe you want to try on the grass first?"
Nope. I knew what I was going to do and how. And I went to it, but not until I made sure my mother was back inside the house. This was a solo experience, and I wanted no adults around telling me what to do or showing concern if I should fall.
And fall I did.
A lot.
But each time, I got right back up and back on that bike, now and then having to tell my mom "I'm FINE mommy," as she would hear what she later described as a "horrible sounding crash" and peek her head out the door asking if I was ok. I don't know how long this went on, but I became more determined with each fall and with each time I had to reassure my mom I was indeed fine. And in one beautiful moment, suddenly I was riding without falling. Round and round I went in that garage. I did it!
That wasn't enough. I wanted more freedom. So, I took off down the driveway and went up our road much to the horror of my mother who had realized all was quiet in the garage, walked outside and noticing I was gone, ran down the driveway to see my little image disappearing up the road. She yelled something about not going too far and to turn around and come right back home.
Don't go too far? I thought.
Come right back home?
Really?
With this newfound freedom?
It wasn't until I heard my entire name come out of her mouth that I knew she was serious, so with a deep sigh, I stopped my bike, turned around, and rode back home. Downhill. Fast.
Mom yelling most of the way for me to slow down.
Me not paying her words any attention.
She would probably still react the same if she were to watch me ride today - sometimes my feet out on either side of my bike. Sometimes, without hands on the handle bars.
After that little red bike, I graduated up to a kid size bike, complete with basket and banana seat. I joyfully decorated the spokes of the wheels with clothes pins and playing cards, the tires making that wonderful "clack clack clack" sound. After that bike, it was a red 10-speed where I risked arm and limb riding down the middle of one of the biggest hills in the town, sometimes with my eyes closed.
Without a helmet.
In fact, back then, I didn't even know bike helmets existed. If my parents did, they never mentioned it. We were far more "free-range" back then. Merry go rounds, garden hose instead of a cup on a summer day and metal slides that unless you had on pants would cause you to say "ouch ouch ouch!" on the way down during a hot day.
But unlike things as they were back then, no safety precautions, no helmets, today I wear a helmet.
I may still feel like a kid on my bike but I ain't that risky. Mom didn't raise no fool.
Here are a few pictures of some local signs of springs that aren't of the bike variety. Enjoy!
Love,
Victoria
