Trail Blazers

In an effort to become a well-rounded person, I have decided to take up bike riding. Or, more accurately, it is because I have become a well-rounded person that I have decided to take up biking.

The last time I rode a bike I was in junior high. It wasn’t a pleasurable activity; it was more like a necessity because my abusive mother refused to chauffer me to school. So every morning I’d get up, slap on a half-inch of make-up, and hop on my bike. By the time I got to school there were a dozen gnat carcasses caught in the deadly web of my mascara.

The only good part about riding my bike to school was the crossing guard. We had to cross a busy street, and the crosswalk wasn’t near a traffic light, so a very pleasant old man was assigned to wear a bright orange vest and carry a stop sign out to the middle of the street to stop traffic. The old man took obvious pleasure in interacting with us young-uns, unless – unless – you did not dismount and walk your bike through the crosswalk, as per Crosswalk Law. If you didn’t abide by the law, this sweet old man would turn into a frightening nightmare who would clobber you soundly over the head with his stop sign, causing you to swerve dangerously towards the line of stopped cars before wobbling to a crash in the middle of the street while the other students peed their pants laughing at you. You didn’t mess with the crosswalk man.

My first time back on a bike in over 17 years was in a Dick’s Sporting Goods store. Dick’s Sporting Goods has helpfully provided wide, clean, smooth aisles on which to try, perhaps for the first time in 17 years, an array of potentially lethal sporting equipment. They have also helpfully lined these aisles with the sharpest objects they could find, like clothing racks and harpoons. So my first time back on a bike was through an obstacle course with extremely low odds for success. I spent most of the time scooting the bike along on the balls of my feet until the pain in my ass rendered me incapable of logical thought and I agreed that the bike would be an extremely sound purchase.

I bought what is called a hybrid bike. Hybrid bikes did not exist when I was a kid. When I was a kid, you started off on a My Little Pony bike with pink and white tassels until you could graduate to a slim ten-speed which you never learned how to operate. My fiancé, who I’m seriously beginning to suspect is mentally unstable, bought a mountain bike so that he can efficiently risk killing himself by sailing down mountains at a 45-degree angle over razor-sharp rocks.

As much as I am looking forward to “getting out there” and “falling down and hurting myself,” I was very hesitant about engaging in all this outdoor activity without taking the dog along. I always feel extremely guilty whenever I do something that I know for a fact Theo would enjoy a lot more than I would. The problem is, Theo is a dog whose main functions are to be affectionate and aesthetically pleasing. She wouldn’t be able to trot along beside the bikes – nor would she be inclined to. She would go maybe two feet before something fascinating caught her attention and she veered off into the bushes, never to be heard from again.

So what we did is, and I want to make it clear that I am extremely embarrassed to admit this, we bought one of those pull-along stroller carriages meant for a three-year-old human being. It is a sophisticated little thing with built-in screens and flaps that you can lower if it rains, a seat-belt system you need a Ph.D. to figure out, and a little pocket in the side in which the toddler might store his sippy-cup. This is what we bought for the dog.

It took only a day and a half to put the complicated carriage together, and then we rolled back the front screen and sat Theo in the little seat inside. She immediately fell off onto the floor. She couldn’t even handle just sitting there. So we took her out and adjusted the seat and put her back in again where she sat looking at us with cheerful, but uneasy, indulgence.

“Good girl, good girl!” we crowed, stroking her and carrying on and feeding her little tidbits so she would associate her fancy, expensive carriage with happy thoughts. Then we zipped up the flaps and dragged her around the house for a while. Theo maintained her kind, tolerant expression, but it was clear she was rapidly losing patience. “Look,” she said with her eyes, “I’m all for showing you two a good time, but this is getting a little ridiculous.”

So now that we’ve all been for a semi-successful practice run around the living room, this weekend we are going to tackle the actual out-of-doors. At my insistence Tom and I have acquired helmets, gloves, kneepads, elbow pads, and a first-aid kit. But of course we are beginners, so there is no reason to go overboard. By the way, does anybody know if they make doggie bike helmets?