Lessons learned behind the handlebars

Image courtesy of FreeFoto.com

Matt and I are officially moved into our new home and are slowly making adjustments and getting used to new routines. I have managed to run into every sharp edge and corner of all of our furniture, walls and counters. I now sport a network of cuts and bruises that don't seem to want to heal. As a matter of fact, I gained a new one this morning when I was trying to get past Goliath in the kitchen. I scraped up against the counter hard enough that the cut managed to developed through two layers of fabric. Matt has yet to take an injury.

Anyway, on to my topic of the day.
I have been making my commute via my bicycle instead of my car for most of the last two weeks. It is a fairly easy trip, just three miles north and usually takes me twenty minutes to complete. My first trip went quite well. I made it over the two big hills without much of a problem and was able to take a bike path all the way, so no collisions with cars. The ride home was a different matter. It was 20 degrees hotter and about 1,000 percent more humid. I also dropped my bike off at the local bike shop for a tune up, a new seat, and a cargo rack. I then had to walk the three miles home which took the better part of an hour due to the heat. Luckily, this was the worst of it. I picked up my bike a few days later and continued my casual commute. I have since learned a few things about life on a bike:

Stamped concrete, while it looks pretty, is murder on a bike. No gel seat can soften the impact.

Runners and walkers wearing iPods tend to weave on the trail, start shouting you are going to pass them and ring your bell (mine is a lovely orange bell).

If you are looking for an easy way to peel a hard-boiled egg, just carry it with you on a bike ride. All that bouncing breaks the shell into a million pieces that are almost impossible to brush off.

When your husband, the triathlete, comments that the hill isn't that bad, just smile as you are trying to breathe and your legs are shaking because you were foolish enough to keep up with him.

You can never have too much water, no matter how short the ride.

Try not to lose the keys to your bike lock. You will be forced to rush out and purchase a new one.

Riding up hills with a dog in a bike trailer is almost as bad as keeping up with a triathlete.

When you have to watch the Tour de France every day in July, you develop a whole new understanding of how out of shape you really are.