Sunday, January 06, 2013
Due to other medical issues, I was forced to skip riding my bicycle for two whole days. One of the days it rained a good bit, so I felt a bit vindicated. But I also felt so sad because riding this bicycle is a ton of work for me and missing out on two days training when I seriously need all the flat-road time I can get is not good.
I've only got about 3 months to seriously get into shape to be able to go up steep hills if I am to have any bicycle fun this spring and summer where I workamp near steep hills.
This morning, I was back on my bicycle. I had dressed comfortably in a long sweater dress I found at a used shop 3 years ago plus I had on boots to keep my feet warm. I donned all this before thinking about what a sight I might be on a bicycle. Because my bicycle is a sissy bike, I can get away with wearing my oh so warm long sweater dress on cold mornings, so I hopped on the bicycle.
One loop around section A, another loop around section B, then out to the stop sign and back. I was dying of thirst. I guess I need a water bottle holder next.
At least I made it out on my bicycle. It was all flat riding, but still my thighs are screaming for mercy. My calves feel fine, but my thighs are apparently out of shape. Since this is a retro bicycle, it came with a big generous seat, so that hasn't really bothered me much. I am in no shape to tackle the racing bicycle seats that are so tiny and painful.
A lot of people stared at me as I rode by, so I started smiling and waving at them. I guess a lady with a long ponytail, a sweater dress and wearing boots on a fire engine red retro bicycle can make quite a sight to see. At least I provide entertainment for the RV park!
When I first arrived in Melbourne, Florida, earlier in the week it was so warm in the 80's that I was wearing bicycle shorts. Oddly I own bicycle shorts in assorted colors as I wear them in the summer with long tunic type Tshirts.
When I lived aboard my sailboat, I often wore short dresses, but the wind would sometimes blow up my dress to reveal I had short colorful bicycle shorts hidden under my dress. I learned to wear short bicycle shorts under mini dresses the hard way.
I was young and slender. I was visiting on my boyfriend's sailboat in Cruz Bay on the island of St John in the Virgin Islands. My boat was anchored across the harbor. I had worn a short dress with just a bright red G-string under it. This seemed appropriate for a hot day in the Caribbean. Cruz Bay is a busy harbor that has ferry traffic two and three times an hour. We decided to go ashore. He had already climbed into his dinghy below. I was coming over the rail and down the side of the boat (no ladder) to enter the dinghy next.
That's when the ferry roared into the harbor going way over the speed limit, causing a huge wake. I was forced to hold tightly onto the side of the sailboat while my friend tried to hold on for dear life in the tiny fiberglass dinghy that was bobbing around like a coconut in a tsunami. The huge wave the ferry generated was rocking both the dinghy and the sailboat something awful while my friend cursed words I shall not repeat.
As I held on tightly, unable to climb down into the dinghy, nor back onto the sailboat, a gust of wind blew my dress up. I could hear people on the open-air ferry whistling and screaming because they were treated to a sight of my bare buns and my bright red G-string.
What's even worse, was that some of the people on the ferry knew me. So later that day when I ran into them in town, they had great fun letting me know how cute they thought my little red G-string was.
At the next island we sailed to, a shop has super short bicycle shorts for sale in assorted colors. I picked out a pair for each of my dresses. You couldn't see them under the dresses unless the wind blew.
Now my body shape has changed and I no longer wear short dresses. Actually I stopped wearing them after I busted up my left knee. I was oh so tired of answering questions about what happened to my knee that left a huge angry red scar.
One day I was lounging in town with my leg propped up in an open-air bar and restaurant. Someone asked about my knee and I nonchalantly told them it was a shark bite. I was in a silly mood and carried on quite the conversation with them. Eventually they left me alone, then left the bar.
Twenty minutes later, a reporter from the local newspaper rushes into the bar and breathlessly asks me about my shark bite while holding a pen and pad of paper.
I felt very foolish.
Maybe my middle name is fool, I seem to do the strangest things, that seem normal at time. Taking up bicycle riding seems like a great idea for now, but boy do my thighs ever complain.