Ah, remember riding a bike? Pedals in the wind, hair in the helmet? The sweet freedom of the side of the road? Those effortlessly muscular quads of yesteryear? Well, it’s time to buy an adult-sized bike and let it all come rushing back.
Get started by situating yourself in a standing position next to your new bike. Ready to mount this thing? Grip the handlebars and in one, flowing movement swing your entire leg up, up, above hip height, above that bar thingy, and flop it over onto the other side. Oops, not that leg! Now you’re straddling the bike backward. Let’s try again.
You’ll know that your bike is the correct height for you if the seat height corresponds to your crotch height in the perfect ratio, as established by your neighbors shouting, “Should be higher! Nope, higher! She needs it higher.” The distance between the seat and crotch level is unique to each rider, but you’ll know it when you feel it. By “it” I mean the sudden, nauseating loss of stability you’ll experience when both feet are suddenly hovering above the ground and you and the bike are suspended in a liminal space between life and death.
You are bound to notice that an adult bicycle is at least a hundred pounds heavier than the one from your youth, but don’t worry! Your brittle, agèd skull and fragile brain matter are also many, many more feet above the pavement now. Falling to either side will result in a gruesome, painful injury, which you can prevent with forward momentum. Now. Pedal now. You have to pedal now!
Once you’re lurching forward, wobbling precipitously from side to side, remember to keep both eyes fixed on a spot directly ahead of your front tire, scanning for stones. A single pebble will send you careering out of control, and you may never regain that control, ever.
Eventually, muscle memory will begin to take over: the memory of stuffing your pant leg into one sock to avoid a bicycle-chain massacre; the memory of having such a nervous, sweaty groin in algebra class that you’d wonder, Did I somehow pee myself?; the memory of getting your braces removed and then, because of orthodontic oversight, having them put back on. The memory gang’s all here.
We’re approaching an incline, which means that it’s time to switch gears. Gears are so easy to understand that it’s ridiculous. When going uphill you’ll want to shift into a lower gear, meaning the numbers will drop as you ascend. Or, wait—no. For uphill, you downshift to a higher gear. Also, there’s a front gear and back gear? And the smaller links on the back do the opposite of the smaller ones on the front, obviously. Remember: small / right = higher / left = lower. See, it’s as familiar as your old algebra teacher’s voice saying, through clenched teeth, “Just sit down, O.K.?” while you dissociate at the chalkboard.
When changing gears, you should feel a horrific, grinding shudder that says, “Something is wrong.”
Backpedal into a state of comforting affirmation. You don’t need to be a champion cyclist; you are accomplished in other ways! You are an entertaining friend and an imaginative lover. You have a robust singing voice. You can make your own yogurt!
In fact, you should go do what you do best: some more research. Get off your bike by braking hard and leaping away with a mighty leap. Otherwise, the bike will fall onto your leg and mangle your flesh. You’re doing this because you don’t know how to turn the bike around without skidding onto the road, but that’s a lesson for another day.
Get into a safe, seated position, on a chair, indoors, and Google “how do bikes work.” Write down some words. “Drivetrain.” “Cassette.” “Derailleur.” “Teeth.” Try not to think about the day you had to show up to ninth grade with braces again, after your big braces-off reveal party, and Amanda said that you couldn’t be the drummer in her band anymore.
With enough practice, soon you’ll be cruising right along at a reasonable speed, making sure to stay on a perfectly level stretch of road. Take your new bike for a spin down to the greenmarket. This is what it’s all about! Put some fresh cilantro and a jar of dilly beans into your basket. “Good bike,” everyone will say, or “cool quads!” You can ride this high until next week, when we relearn how to play the drums.
