Sunday Blog 180 – 13th April 2025
My new red collapsible e-bike is a beast, even on level 1. Zooms forward with a spurt as I scrabble for the pedals, jam on the brakes, turn it back to zero to co-ordinate my errant feet. Endless opportunities to look foolish at fifty-nine on this machine, but if my mother’s death has taught me nothing else, I know there is only now, and joy lies at the edge of comfort. I settle, push off safely, the thrill of cycling descends.
It’s a direct echo of the electric shock of joy when I first rode a bike in my childhood. There was just one bike in the holiday house between six children, and somehow I missed my turn learning to ride. I’d get astride the bike, push down on the pedal and feel the moment of freedom, wind in my hair, the body pushing forward and then stop with just one revolution of the wheels. Then I’d come to a stop and just be the girl who couldn’t ride a bike yet.
But one holiday the front lawn was spongy and deep, I was astride the bike, one foot on the pedal ready to take off as I had done so many times, pretending I could ride. Now the other foot sought and found the pedal. My gut felt a punch as the thrill of success overcame me. A new knowing entered by muscles and the rest of the holiday was an immersion in the thrill and practice of riding a bike.
Now I smile as I ride, teeth dry from the wind. Some of the people I pass smile back at me.