This morning I got up bright and early (well, okay, overcast and early) and pumped up the tires on my hardly-ever-used bike (captured at a garage sale for the ridiculously low price of a hundred bucks; it was originally over $350), strapped the plastic helmet on my noggin, strapped a bottle of raspberry tea to the bottle holder on the bike, and set off... to discover... exactly what I most didn't want to discover. What I discovered during the 35 minute, perhaps two miles roundtrip is: I'm 56... and counting!
My idea, you see, was to determine how long it would take me to get the four miles to work if I rode my bike. I thought I would do that all spring, summer and fall if I could get there in under 35 minutes because -- hey, what a way to get into shape and not have to worry about exercising before and after work except for the eight miles (round trip) of biking.
I was aware, of course, that there are two rather steep hills between my condo and my job, but the first of them is a rather short steep hill, and I supposed I could push the bike up the longer one when I ran out of steam on it. Besides, I told myself with great enthusiasm, I have a ten-speed! I can probably crank those little gadgets up on the sprockets and sail up those hills without breaking a sweat...
Yeah, right...
So off I went. The first part of the journey seemed almost laughably easy. I was thinking, This is a piece of cake. And the entire trip will be just like this -- some of it slightly downhill -- as soon as I get past li'l hill and bigger hill...
Then came li'l hill.
Ahem... What is a little hill to the eye and to an automatic transmission is somewhat more challenging on a bicycle, ten speed or not. But I set about to tackle it, thinking: Look at it this way: on the way home, this will be a downhill part of the trip! With that positive thought in mind, I took it on...
About thirty seconds later I was perhaps a quarter of the way up that li'l hill (having had a good running start because it was the other side of a somewhat large "valley" in the roadway) and wondering what had happened to my breath, and my legs, and why were my glasses beginning to fog up?
I dismounted (it was that or fall off, because by now the bike had stopped proceeding up the slope) and stepped onto the sidewalk and realized that the muscles that had brought me this far up the hill (the ones in front) seemed as weak as a preambulatory child's. Thankfully, these aren't the same muscles we use for walking and pushing a bike.
I started pushing the bike onward, certain that I would be fine as soon as I recovered just a bit and allowed my bike muscles to take a breather.
I pushed the bike upward several hundred yards (maybe it just felt that far -- it certainly doesn't look that far in a car) and came to a part of the sidewalk that seemed do-able again, so I remounted and started along... but this area was slightly tipped toward a higher elevation -- hardly discernible in a car, mind you...
I cranked up the gears to their ultimate in push-me, pull-you power, and still found myself perspiring and struggling. Two bikers, looking very exhilarated, sailed past me going in the other direction -- one on a recumbent bike -- and I thought, "I'd be exhilarated, too, if I were going downhill right now..."
And I realized I could be going downhill right now, if I would just turn myself around and head in the direction they were heading. I placated myself with the encouraging, reassuring, triumphant thought, In an hour you will be, Kris. Get up the big hill and you will have no more troubles on this entire trip.
So I recommitted to the task before me.
That is until I got to Mount Everest...
I recalled that this was the very hill that had become almost impassible during the snow storm two months previously. I had nearly collided with one vehicle on this stretch of roadway because the vehicle lost traction and began to slide sideways and then backwards (the driver had tried creeping up the icy hill instead of giving it the amount of gas necessary to keep it in an upward trajectory on ice, and I had given my vehicle what it needed to crest the summit).
I studied the hill as I approached it, by now again pushing the bike. I looked at my watch. It had taken me twenty minutes already to get perhaps a mile. Pushing the bike up the Himalayas would take another twenty at least. By this calculation, it would take me an hour to get the 4 miles to work every day -- and about twenty to get me back (this is an estimate -- but the road is mostly downhill on the way back except for one li'l hill and one longer... uh, oh... sound familiar?)
I turned the bike and myself around and sailed down that long incline toward home. At the bottom of that incline was, of course, the "somewhat large valley" I had deftly navigated coming in the other direction. But it stood between me and home, so there was no way to avoid it.
I pushed the bike up Mt. Rainier and when I got to the top I was slightly wet from drizzle, more wet underneath from perspiration, and the fog was back on my glasses.
And guess what? I will not be riding my bike to work. I will not be saving gas money. I will not be working off excess pounds daily unless I re-adopt my elliptical or take my two and a half mile walk in the morning or evening...
Because I'm 56 and there are two enormous wonders of the world -- Rainier and Everest -- standing between me and On-Hold Concepts.
I have a whole new respect for people on the bike lanes between here and there, let me tell you. It's no wonder they look the way they do -- like streamlined greyhounds...
I'm delighted to live 10 minutes from work (in a car) and have decided to remain delighted every day on my way up those hills in my Saturn.
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