i’ve been riding a bike since i was a little kid. fearless, reckless, i destroyed bikes & parts of my body in jr. high by not thinking about anything except having fun and taking risks while riding. as i gained as much weight as i did in my adult years, my riding declined to the stopping point until 2 years ago when i started to reclaim my health and lose that weight. i had bought a cheap Mongoose and now rode in the neighborhood up to 18 miles a day, but only for health.
i’m 42 now, 90lbs lighter, in a lot better shape than i’ve been in many years, and… i’m kinda scared.
i bought The Bike (2004 Klein Aura V) back in November ’10 with the intention of commuting to work, saving money, helping the environment, and continuing my journey to better health. when the commuting didn’t work out because of gang-related issues (another time / another post), i committed to using the bike as much as i could for errands, pleasure, short trips and riding to Pensacola Beach.
Pensacola Beach is less than 10 miles from my house as the crow flies. it’s a gorgeous drive getting there, and without a doubt, one of the most beautiful beaches in the country.
the problem? to get to the beach, you’ve gotta cross the Pensacola Bay Bridge, a narrow, 3 mile long bridge that crosses the Pensacola Bay, is subject to some strong crosswinds, and can be a little scary to drive over depending on the volume of traffic.
i spent months looking longingly at that bridge from the seat of my bike. i’d make it to the bridge, then turn towards town and ride around there. i made all sorts of excuses as to why i was scared to cross it on the bike. i mean, seriously! look at how people drive across that thing! and what about garbage in the road? if there’s lots of trash, i’m stuck! and crosswinds? c’mon! my lack of balance due to hearing impairment is legendary! one burst of wind from the bay and i’m either pushed into traffic or i’m over the side and in the drink. let’s not even talk about the fact that i can’t wear my hearing aids when i ride, so can’t monitor traffic well! all i needed to do was keep telling myself these things and i’d be sure to not risk anything by crossing that death trap.
but then the jr. higher in me has been calling. and The Bike? oh, man. i honestly had no idea how awesome riding a bike could be until i bought a Klein. such a sweet ride! i had to suck it up, get past the fears and excuses, and just ride the damn bridge!
i enlisted my friend Chris Baskind to ride with me, soothe my fears, steel my resolve, and not let me back out.
and 14 miles after leaving home, we arrived on Pensacola Beach in one piece. and it. was. awesome.
that old bridge doesn’t scare me any more. i’ve ridden across it 3 more times since my first ride a couple weeks ago. i took my Flip UltraHD video camera with me and shot the crossing, sped it up some, added some smooth background music, and put it up:
as i’ve become more confident with riding and with my ability to monitor what’s going on around me while riding, i’m branching out more and feeling good about using the bike for more than just getting healthier.
i’m NOT, however, riding like a jr. higher. pretty sure i’d be dead by now if i were!
Young On(c)e wrote:
>i’m NOT, however, riding like a jr. higher.
>pretty sure i’d be dead by now if i were!
Ah, the memories this brings to mind — and not from adolescent years either!
1982 – 83, I was a married homeowner, volunteer firefighter, and emergency medical technician for the civil defense rescue squad. I loved fast motorcycles. Rode a modified Suzuki GS-750L (raced a lot of Harleys — red light to red light — I never once came in second).
I was at the hose house one night, tossing back a few pints with my brother firefighters (volunteer fire departments — at least in my town — were gentlemen’s drinking clubs). To make a long story short, I ended up getting ****faced, snot-slinging drunk (Navy slang). When the party broke up, I climbed on my motorcycle & headed for home, less than a mile away.
I used to think I was bullet proof in my late 20s. Translation: I was incredibly stoopid. Late at night I loved cranking the throttle WFO up the long hill from the fire department to the turnoff into my neighborhood. Up untill the mid-50s, the development I lived in was an apple orchard planted high on a terraced river valley wall. As a result, the roads were all twisty-turny as they went up-and-down. At 3:00 AM with no one else on the road, I’d take those turns at high speed, scraping my footpegs on the pavement. Immature? Irresponsible? Death wish? No. Just a drunken idiot.
There was this one hairpin turn to the right, that was downhill going into the turn entering a steep uphill grade coming out of the turn. The property on that corner had a front lawn that was elevated in a steep hump in front of the turn.
In my alcohol-induced fog, I took the turn too early, leaving the pavement and going up the lawn onto that hump. When I hit that hump, I went airborne and sailed through the air a good 10 or 15 feet!
Now you’ve got to understand, a 1978 GS-750L weighed more than 500 pounds (I looked it up). There’s a lot of energy involved in launching one of them into the air. I was darn lucky there was no vehicle parked where I came down & hit the pavement on the other side of the turn. I don’t know how I managed to hang onto the handlebars. My upper body slammed into the gas tank and my feet came off the pegs. The bike fishtailed all over the road but somehow I managed to hang on. I continued up the hill, made the turn onto my street, and pulled into my driveway.
I got called in the next morning to work overtime. Hungover, I elected to take my car. As I turned the afore-mentioned corner, I saw the muddy rut I cut into the lawn a few hours earlier. A huge commercial truck was now parked smack dab where my bike had returned to the pavement. . . . At the speed I was traveling I would have left one heluva dent in the side of that truck. And without a brain bucket, I never would have felt a thing.
This was just the latest in a long history of stupidity. I could tell you stories from when I was in the Navy that would curl your toes. And I say that with shame and embarrassment. In the movie, when Forrest Gump’s mother tells him “stupid is as stupid does,” she could have been talking about me.
You mention, Scooter, how your hearing loss messed up your balance. Meniere’s disease left me with no vestibular function whatsoever. I had to give up riding motorcycles in 1990 (I can’t even ride a bicycle anymore). That probably saved my life. No B.S.
Enjoy your bike, Man. May you never run out of three-mile bridges to cross — and friends to share them with!
L&K,
Moldy-Wan ;-)
Thanks for sharing, I had considered riding my bike to work a couple of times, since I only live a 7-minute drive from school, but I can see now, it’s not quite as safe as I thought.