Bicycle races are coming your way

Yesterday afternoon, I saw it with my own eyes, DS purchased his plane ticket – one-way to London on 12 July. It’s official. My heart broke into smithereens.

We then left the office, grabbed some dinner, and headed to the beach for my second lesson in riding a bike.

True story: I never learned to ride a bike. My dad knows, but he never taught me. I didn’t have that kind of childhood. Coincidentally, there was a secret on PostSecret last week that might as well have been sent by me. I cackled when I saw it.


How bizarre is it, learning to ride a bike at the age of 27 from one’s co-worker from Northern England? It was DS’s idea. When I confessed that I didn’t know how to ride a bike, he offered to teach me. I thought he was joking. Which English guy in his right mind would give up a potential night of getting pissed with his friends to teach his colleague to ride a bike? But DS was serious.

Last Friday after work was my first lesson. Try as I might, I was never able to pedal. I mostly laughed my way through it, out of sheer embarrassment and nervousness. DS’s quips didn’t help either. That guy would have made a brilliant comedian. He said we would come again the following week. Yes, another Friday night sweating in the humidity and swatting gnats and mosquitoes instead of being in the pub (“poob” if said in his accent).

“Tonight’s the night. By the end of these two hours, you are going to be able to ride a bike,” he insisted, nay, warned.

I wasn’t too sure. However, fifteen minutes into the first hour, I was able to lift my left foot off the ground, get it on the pedal, and actually cycle for two seconds. Then two seconds turned to four, four turned to ten, ten turned to a minute, a minute turned into ten minutes. I couldn’t believe it. I mean I know riding a bike is not rocket science but I never believed in myself to succeed without falling a few times first. But there I was, pedalling, not falling. DS was so proud of me, like a dad would be. It was ridiculous.

I did fall later, when I got too confident and lost control. And again when he tried to teach me to turn. Several times. Ow. From then on, DS’s standard dialogue was: “Pedal, pedal, keep pedalling…good…turn now…go left…brake! Brake! Hit the brakes!”

I woke up today with multiple bruises on my shin and lower calf. They’re quite gorgeous. I have a thing for bruises. I can’t stop looking and I can’t stop pressing. It hurts so good. Totally worth it for now being able to ride a bike semi-confidently and also for getting to spend that time with DS. Heaven knows there’s not much of it left.


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