I remember my first 10 speed. I teetered precariously on the too-large frame; its giant wheels dwarfing my scrawny 12-year-old body. Its tape-wrapped, curving handlebars and silver shifting levers were my badge of maturity; status. My first bike had been a hand-me-down from a cousin, a 70's banana-seat variety with a gash in the vinyl that allowed in rainwater and would nicely soak your butt each time you sat down for days after. But this one--this gleaming blue Schwinn--was all my own, unstoried and unblemished. My best friend and I rode almost daily, meandering around the flat Midwestern landscape, lost in preadolescent twitters and fantasies.
Flash forward 25 years: It's time for my oldest son to earn his cycling badge for Cub Scouts, and they need adults to supervise a short ride at the park. Though my dear father has been talking lately of refurbishing the aforementioned Schwinn, now tattered and forlorn in his basement, I declined and made a trip to our local bike shop, and bought the lovely Trek Navigator 300 you behold above. Not only do the gears shift by a simple twist of the grip, but the chain doesn't fall off in the road and it has 24 speeds! My bike euphoria nearly obscures the fact that my rear end is throbbing and that all the nice old couples out for strolls with their precious little dogs appeared more than a little disgruntled at the sight of 5 adults and 9 third grade Cub Scouts zipping along the path at the park. One of them even sighed audibly as we passed.
I went ahead and had them install the removable baby seat and rack, and our next step will have to be a hitch and rack on the minivan. There is no escaping full blown mother of three-dom. But as I set out on my maiden voyage this morning, just for a moment, I was just myself, just me, with the hum of tires, the autumn sky, and a solitary country road.
