If y'all told my parents any number of years ago that I would request a bike for daily use, they would have laughed in every single one of your faces. My relationship with bicycling has been a little spotty. The high point would definitely be the day after Christmas morning that I acquired my fifteen minutes of fame being photographed for the Tyler Morning Telegraph riding my spanking new pink and white Schwinn:
After that, no. Just no. There was one time when my parents took me on a 10 mile ride from Breckenridge to Frisco, CO, at a point when my level of physical fitness was nowhere near prepared for a 10 mile ride. The only thing that got me to Frisco was my mom staying just out of my reach with a bag of marshmallows. Crunchy, nasty, cereal marshmallows. There was another time when we vacationed to D.C. and just had to do bike tours because they were the only way to see the city, so we did two in one day. The kind where you have to wear reflective vests and flashing lights and call all sorts of attention to yourself. Then there was another time in Paris when we took three bike tours in three days, and I took yet another that same summer in Amsterdam with friends. It's not that I dislike the tours after the fact, it's just that before and during I put on my sourpuss face and make everyone miserable and have to be bribed with ice cream and souvenirs and "if you go on this bike tour I promise we'll go to ____ Museum"s.
So then I start dating this guy who cycles - you know it's serious when they refer to cyclists and cycling instead of bikers and biking - and I'm over at his house and he takes me cycling and my family is having a field day because they know what he does not about my history with the activity. Needless to say, his enthusiasm, along with my dad's newfound enthusiasm, my (now) fond memories of the Paris tours, and obviously my profound maturity, caused me to begin reevaluating my stance over the past year or so. Enter: Houston, where every sign seemed to point toward the ease of biking to work, and for the first time since my 11th birthday I have a new bike. And for the roughly 2.2 miles from my garage apartment to MD Anderson, I'm Lance Armstrong in business casual, y'all.
I guess this is just a public service announcement that I've decided to like biking. Because my dislike has always just been obstinance.
photos courtesy of the clairely molly historian, aka Dad, who did not disappoint when asked to procure "basically, any documentation of me on bikes, preferably looking miserable". Funny how he managed to continue finding photos for me even after the first posting.
After that, no. Just no. There was one time when my parents took me on a 10 mile ride from Breckenridge to Frisco, CO, at a point when my level of physical fitness was nowhere near prepared for a 10 mile ride. The only thing that got me to Frisco was my mom staying just out of my reach with a bag of marshmallows. Crunchy, nasty, cereal marshmallows. There was another time when we vacationed to D.C. and just had to do bike tours because they were the only way to see the city, so we did two in one day. The kind where you have to wear reflective vests and flashing lights and call all sorts of attention to yourself. Then there was another time in Paris when we took three bike tours in three days, and I took yet another that same summer in Amsterdam with friends. It's not that I dislike the tours after the fact, it's just that before and during I put on my sourpuss face and make everyone miserable and have to be bribed with ice cream and souvenirs and "if you go on this bike tour I promise we'll go to ____ Museum"s.
please appreciate the sassy over the shoulder glance in the top left
detail shot is of my gnarly wound - at 7 yrs I biked 10 miles with a practically amputated right leg
perfecting the sourpuss face at an early age
loving every minute of biking the sites in D.C.
So then I start dating this guy who cycles - you know it's serious when they refer to cyclists and cycling instead of bikers and biking - and I'm over at his house and he takes me cycling and my family is having a field day because they know what he does not about my history with the activity. Needless to say, his enthusiasm, along with my dad's newfound enthusiasm, my (now) fond memories of the Paris tours, and obviously my profound maturity, caused me to begin reevaluating my stance over the past year or so. Enter: Houston, where every sign seemed to point toward the ease of biking to work, and for the first time since my 11th birthday I have a new bike. And for the roughly 2.2 miles from my garage apartment to MD Anderson, I'm Lance Armstrong in business casual, y'all.
the change is quite remarkable
I guess this is just a public service announcement that I've decided to like biking. Because my dislike has always just been obstinance.
photos courtesy of the clairely molly historian, aka Dad, who did not disappoint when asked to procure "basically, any documentation of me on bikes, preferably looking miserable". Funny how he managed to continue finding photos for me even after the first posting.
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