Too Slow, Too Fast

On Daffodil Parade Day, I went for my first ride on the first bicycle I’ve owned as a grown-up.

When I rode my bike for the first time, I huffed and puffed my way down the flat path.  I probably didn’t exceed 15 mph (not that I know for sure because we don’t have a computer to tell us how fast we’re going yet).  I was a little embarrassed that the other bicycle riders were much more expert – riding a straight path, closely following each other to draft, wearing their spandex gear.  I, on the other had, do not ride in a straight line (J says I ride like I'm drunk), was always about 20-30 feet ahead of or behind J, and had to fold up my workout pants so they didn’t get caught in the chain.

At the beginning of the ride, I complained that we'd bitten off more than we could chew for our first outing.  The path followed the road for what seemed like forever before getting to the town (probably only 1 mile or so).  Cars zoomed past us, and oncoming cyclists seemed to go twice as fast as us.  At every stop sign and light, I slowed waaaaay down for fear of getting hit by a car turning right into me.


Finally we got to town, where we could smell people preparing for the parade with a barbecue.  We stopped to drink water at the water fountain, then we continued on where the path left the town and passed cows grazing in a pasture.  They seemed happy that it wasn’t raining.  We rode past a few homes where children played outside (also happy it wasn’t raining).  

A man running with his small dog apologized when the dog barked at me as I rode past, saying “He’s not used to wheels.”  I responded, “It’s ok, neither am I!”

We stopped when the path met up with the river.  We ate a picnic lunch of tuna sandwiches and chips that J packed that morning while I slept in and were impressed with ourselves for having ridden so far on just our first ride.  The river rushed past us, a muddy grey color – probably glacial melt.  We saw the Cascades in the distance.  People we’d passed walked past us, and said hello – again.  We took pictures of our bicycles, proud to be beginner cyclists.  Then we headed off on the path, now following the river.

The path passed over a narrow bridge, on which I was unsure who to yield to, if anyone.  A pedestrian entered the bridge ahead of me, and I could see two (expert) cyclists heading my way.  Maybe someday I’ll know the rules of these roads, but that day I didn’t.  I slowed as I approached, unsure whether to stop or speed over the bridge.  The pedestrian saw me, paused in the middle and scooted over for me, and I had passed over the bridge before the oncoming cyclists got there.  It was all very civilized.

The path left the river, and we rode through a small forest.  A couple – one on a bike timing the other who was running – headed toward us.  The runner was probablyfaster than me on my bike.

After leaving the forest, I looked up to see a large fenced-in pasture, and back from the fence a ways was a really big bird.  I laughed under my breath.  What a surprise– out in the middle of nowhere, what looked like an ostrich (but was probably an emu).  I stopped to get a better look, and as I approached the fence, the bird approached me.  He was taller than me, and his feathers looked new and fluffy – like maybe he wasn’t full-grown yet.  Before I could get our camera turned on, he bored of me and slowly walked away.

We turned around to head back, leaving more to explore next time.  The return trip seemed easier and smoother.  We even rode side by side for a bit.  When we loaded our bikes back into the truck, I saw a couple taking their bikes out of their truck.  They wore jeans and tennis shoes, and didn’t seem terribly confident on their bikes,and I waved at them as they left the parking lot.

On our drive home, we wondered if the blinking lights and stopped cars ahead of us in the oncoming lanes were because of the parade.  As we drove past, and saw the body of a young person covered with a blanket, we knew that they weren’t stopped for the parade.  A motorcyclist had hit an oncoming car at speeds estimated at 100 mph.  He died.  There’s no way to wrap that up nicely.

I was sad for the guy who'd gone too fast, and glad that we’d spent our day going our own speed.