The Dames of Hazard

1 07 2008

Neener and Roo have inherited some remarkable characteristics from me. They have my perfectly bowed upper lip, which makes for both an adorable little pout and a magically mischievous grin. The have my passionate obsession with words. And they have my stunning bicycling abilities. I say stunning because, when you see us riding a bike, prepare to be stunned by how remarkably terrible we are at it.

I have not been on a bicycle in at least twelve years, and some would say that is for the best. They are probably right. My only memories of bike riding are spectacularly crashtastic. There was the near-collision with a free range chicken that sent me flying over the handle bars of a BMX, resulting in the near-squashing of several more free range chickens upon my landing. There was the time I drove my Blue Angel bike down a hill and directly into the woods. Like, right into a thick patch of spruce trees without even touching my brakes. Then there was the time I drove my mountain bike down a much bigger hill, at a much higher speed, and proceeded to drive across a road and over a bank, at which point both my bicycle and I became airborne. Until gravity kicked in and sent me face first into the swampy ditch, and my bicycle, tire-first into the back of my head. Again, I didn’t even slow down, much less try to steer my way out of danger. Most people like to get off of a bike by swinging their leg over the side when the bike is not moving. I seem to prefer a more creative dismount. Over the handlebars at high speed. Yeeeehaw!

Somewhere along the way, I became afraid of falling from a bike. Afraid of busting my perfectly bowed upper lip. So I stopped riding altogether. But in the last few weeks, I’ve been watching Neener and Roo just learning to ride on the little paved path behind our house. I’ve watched Roo pedal her heart out with not a shred of attention paid to actually steering. I’ve watched Neener coast down tiny slopes with her feet stuck straight out to the sides, it never once occurring to her to touch the brakes. I’ve watched, and I’ve felt compelled to get out there with them. And now I can. Look out all you chickens and trees and ditches, I’ve got a bike! My stylin’ new set of wheels came to me courtesy of my brother, and it looks like something I stole from a thirteen year old boy. It’s a black BMX trick bike covered in skateboarder stickers. Heavy as lead, big thick super grip tires, and a seat that would be enough to give me hemorrhoids if having three babies had not already beaten it to the punch. I can’t decide if I look all hardcore and tough riding this bike, or if I look totally ridiculous. Not that it really matters. I’ll consider myself lucky if I manage to spend most of my time actually riding the thing as opposed to picking me and it out of bushes. (Note to self: Get a good sturdy helmet! Preferably a bad-ass black one with skateborader stickers on it.)

Last year, Mr. Blister got a really nice mountain bike, and he’s been using it to show Neener and Roo how to really ride. They are ultra impressed with the way he whizzes around without so much as a wobble. From him, they will learn how to ride a bike. But now that I have one too, I can get in on the educational action. He might be able to teach them how to ride, but seeing my own braking-and-steering-challenged tendencies in their young eyes, I know they are also going to need someone to teach them how to fall. (Tuck and roll, baby, tuck and roll.) That will be up to me and my little black BMX. And more importantly, I can teach them what to do after they fall. I’ll teach them to get up, pick the chicken feathers or spruce needles or muddy swampy ditch bits out of their teeth and hair, and get back on the bike. Even if it’s been twelve years.




4 responses

2 07 2008

Hey, you had a Blue Angel too, eh? I think our MacDonald friend might have had one too… I remember pedalling mine as fast as I possibly could down the biggest hill on our gravel road trying to catch up to my brother (you can guess which brother), only to totally wipe out in my attempt at banking around the turn at the bottom. I was all scratched up and had some pretty heavy gravel rash, but what bothered me most was when Mum asked my bro if I was going fast and he said, “No, not really.” I was flying!! No respect.

3 07 2008

Yes, the ol’ Blue Angel was a classic. Silly brother for not recognizing the sheer speed those babies could pick up cruising down a dirt road!
I suspect I should also teach the kids how to pick bits of gravel out of their knees in a sterile manner, as I’m sure they’ll get their share of gravel rash too. I know I sure did.

4 07 2008

o.k. remeber the nair commercials where the girl rides the bike, sticks out her perfectly shave, but no bruised or cut legs, and looks stunning, yeah Idid that and wound up in a ditch full of bull rushes and frogs, walked bike home crying for my mom. Definitely not stunning, oh and roads with no sidewalks or curbs, just stagnant water on the sides, occasionally with a dead animal in them, wasn’t life grand….

16 07 2008
Jog Jog Jiggy Jog « Domestic Blister

[…] addled brain, attempting to propel me closer to guys with cute asses (oh how I loved cute asses.) As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not exactly the athletic type. Or the co-ordinated type. Or even the remotely physically […]

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