I bought a bike. I probably paid fifty dollars more for it than if I had shopped around. They charged me extra for the kickstand and the water bottle holder too. But I decided I needed to buy a bike already or I would never do it. So I bought a bike – a beautiful, blue bike. I’ve named her Bluebell.
She has flowers and bubbles imprinted on her handles and seat.
And stylish decals painted on her frame.
Basically, this bike is targeted at young women who aren’t as concerned about performance as they are about riding a pretty bike, a demographic I fall squarely in. If you fall in that demographic too and want to buy your own, she’s a Trek 7100 WSD.
I rode Bluebell to Butler University to buy Avenue Q tickets, saving money on gas and obscene TicketMaster “convenience” fees which I have never found to be convenient. However, I’d forgotten I was getting my hair cut on the same day. So I went to the stylist and told her I was going out that night instead of telling her I was about to bike 10 miles in a helmet because I knew the truth would break her heart. My hair looked cute, but it wasn’t cute enough to die for. Safety first, cuteness second.
I rode the Canal Tow path to the box office, which at first runs adjacent to a moderately busy street full of noise and exhaust, but after a mile it swerves into the trees and looks more like this.
It made me want to sing “Tra-la-la” as I pedaled, so I did. Of course, it also adds increased fear that I will hit a large twig the wrong way and go ass over end into the murky waters of the canal. I try to steer carefully. I biked through some swarms of geese, which thankfully did not chase me down and peck my eyes out in protest. God only knows what they did to the owner of this hat.
I should have consulted Google maps before leaving, because I wasn’t quite sure what the shortest route to the box office was. I heard cheering and bullhorns in the distance and figured a game was going on at the stadium, so I followed the noise. This was a bad idea because the noise was at the top of a BFH – a big fucking hill.
I pedaled Bluebell as hard as I could and barely made it to the top of the parking lot, where I found myself in the middle of a tailgating event. I figured this out when I saw lawn chairs and fans and rode past the long table of chips, cookies, and a gooey plate of chocolate iced brownies. I started to calculate how many calories were in the brownies and how many calories I would burn on my bike ride, and the only thing that stopped me from grabbing one was the social outrage it would have caused. I would have been the Bicycling Brownie Bandit! And there was no way I could have outrun a hoard of angry tailgaters who wanted their brownies back after I’d pedaled up the BFH.
After I got my tickets, I had to bike home, which is one of the good things about exercising outside because if I had been at the gym I would have gotten off the bike at that point. But I kept going and made it back to the my apartment. But not after I rode past The Flying Cupcake, our local cupcakery, and again started to do calorie calculations in my head.
I kept on pedaling.
