number 9

the bike, she is mine. and this is because I was on a roll that day. I'd been to a couple of church basement sales and I was feeling lucky. when I saw her parked outside my favorite thrift shop, I knew I'd be no match for her wobbly charms. actually, the first thing I spied was that basket. that's what sold me. wait, is that wrong? that I almost bought a bike because of the basket? in my defense, there was also a bell. another total bonus. but I knew I couldn't buy a bike without riding it first. no, I could not.

so I had the nice lady who worked there unlock the bike for me. which is when I sort of panicked. suddenly, I couldn't remember the last time I rode a bike. imaginary fingers inside my head frantically flipped through file after file after file of memory. college, high school, junior high... junior high, maybe. big maybe. 20 some years since my last bike ride? really? now I wasn't sure if I was even physically capable of riding. and there was the issue of my skirt, my clunky dr. scholl sandals. what if I wiped out in the parking lot? in front of the nice lady, my husband, my son and the three people looking through piles of gently stained blouses and pablo cruise cassette tapes? I hiked my leg up over the tan seat anyway. off I went. and it's true what they say. they don't say what they say just to be saying it. it's true, you never forget.



I am now the proud owner of one very sweet tan and white slightly rusted bicycle. with a basket and a bell. the flowers came later. I'll tell you, I love her. I forgot how much fun it is to ride a bike. around the neighborhood I go, over and over. I can't stop grinning, I love it. how could I have gone for so long without riding a bike? how? I'm 9 years-old all over again, I'm zipping all over the place, I'm one step away from popping wheelies.

number 9 off the list, done. and probably the best thing I've done in a long, long time.