I'm Self Conscious About My Rack
From my blog:
Really, I am. It's nerdy. So much so that I take it off when it's not in use. It seems so pedestrian. It's ironic that it bothers me since I ride the greatest rolling turd of a bike in all of Boulder County. The saddle is probably worth more than the whole bike.
Even still, I sucked it up, strapped on my panniers and rode to work. 15 miles at 7 am was never appealing, even on race days. That aside the "everyone else is doing it" guilt is powerful. I was raised Catholic, after all.
My plan was to ride the first half and snag a bus the rest of the way. However, something happened when I got to the bus stop. My legs felt amazing, like they weren't even mine. I was pushing speeds that had me considering returning my obviously "defective" Cat Eye computer. Then there was the 15 minute wait until the next bus came. My desire to stand along the highway dressed in spandex during rush hour was minimal.
Back on my bike I cruised the last few miles to work. After assessing my stink factor I decided just to change clothes before settling in.
As the day wore on I debated riding home or snagging a bus. It would be nice to get 30 miles in without trying, for sure. That decided I committed my safe exit strategy directions to memory and headed out the door. Everything went fine until my sense of direction failed me. I trucked down Airport Road feeling pretty confident until I hit an intersection. That section of road was familiar from the Tour de Cure, a charity ride that went north, away from Boulder.
I guess right then I could have been angry, frustrated, or any of a number of words implying great displeasure. For some reason I just waited for a car to come to the intersection and give me directions. The first driver refused to roll down her windows and sneered at me. Big menacing girl on a pink bike that I am, she was looking out for her children, certainly. The next agreed that I was totally in the wrong direction, but nothing two lefts wouldn't cure.
Not wanting to turn back for fear of boredom I hung a left and inhaled a soothing nose full of farm air. The smell of horses was thick as I pedaled down 17th street. I had been here before, and as long as I got home before dark things would be fine. There were other cyclists out in droves and I cheerily waved as I began my long journey home.
At the intersection of 17th and 75th I cautiously approached an accident. I prayed no one was injured, but especially no cyclists. That would have destroyed my mood. A grumpy woman directing traffic saw me coasting and yelled at me to pedal. Clearly she didn't understand that if I was in a hurry, I would have been on the bus. As I passed the evil troll I confirmed with her that the highway was to the left. The troll snickered, "Yeah, a long ways." I merely smiled. What she didn't understand is what great news this was. I had an excuse to roll aimlessly about the back roads. No longer was riding something I had to "fit in." It was happening, and I was lost with no choice but to pedal my way out.
Epiphanies are powerful things, and it took a troll of a woman, a field of corn inviting my eyes towards the mountains, and the inability to follow directions to realize just how good it can feel to ride. Were I driving a wrong turn would have annoyed me to no end. Since I had no choice but to ride, I wasn't riding instead of something, I was free to literally "roll with it."
The rest of my ride turned into another series of wrong turns that subconsciously might have been deliberate. Mostly the roads were ones I recognized, and I hoped they would get me where I needed to go sooner or later. All told, I didn't really care. I waved and smiled at every cyclist I saw like a overzealous cycling "spokes" woman. I was saddened to have my jersey zipped the whole way up when possibly the sexiest guy to ever get on a bike rode by in the other direction.
39.26 miles into my day later I arrived home. "Who needs a beer? This girl does, that's who!" I told an audience consisting of my dogs. Thank goodness for Oskar Blues beer in a can, and naps.
See it in it's original form here:
http://crappyoldbike.blogspot.com/20...t-my-rack.html
