T minus 20 days.     Biking day (continued)

Yesterday's biking outing will be fodder for my psychiatrist's couch for years to come.  You already know about the great bug incident of 2011.  Now let me tell you about the most embarrassing moment of my life.


Real cyclists look like real cyclists.  They pump their pedals a certain way, they hunch over their bikes a certain way, they hold their head a certain way.  Picture a real cyclist in your head.  You can see what I mean, right?  The real clothes, the real bike, the real shoes.  Now, think of a kid on a bike.....you know, a regular kid tooling around the neighbor on his bike.  Sitting back,  meandering up and down the street, standing up to get to the top of a hill, coasting down.  Got that picture in your head?  Now replace the kid with a grown woman.  A grown woman riding a bike like a kid.  A  grown woman looking the exact opposite of a real cyclist.  And there I am.

If I biked for years and years and years, I might start to develop the right biking muscles.  They seem to be the exact opposite of running muscles.  Whatever they are, I don't have them.  Which is fine when I am cruising along a straight stretch of road.  But not so fine when I have a hill in front of me. Because I still have not mastered the gears on my bike I figured the safest thing was to have it set  in a middle gear of some sort.  It helps going down a hill because I now am able to keep my legs attached to my body.    Going up a hill, however,  poses a problem. It is not an easy gear to use to get up the hill.  Remember what the kid does to get up that hill?  Exactly...stands up.  And remember I am a grown woman riding a big bike like a kid?  So what do I do?  Exactly.  I stand up.  And peddle up the hill.  Slowly.  Very, very slowly.  To do this, you must hold on tightly to the handlebars so:   A. you don't topple over and B. you can get enough momentum to make it to the top.  There was a hill on my ride yesterday.  I saw it ahead of me.  It was getting closer and closer.  I was not really worried.  I knew eventually I would get  to the top....after every man, woman, child and turtle passed me along the way.  But I'd get there.  And I did.  Pedaling, pedaling, pedaling.  Getting to the hill.  Reaching for my handlebars.  Grabbing on tight.  Psyching myself up.  Taking a really big breath.    Standing up to take the hill.  And..... that's when it happened.  What I will be trying to work through for the next twenty years.  The most embarrassing moment of my life.  The bottom of my pink running skirt (don't EVEN THINK about bringing up the ugly black shorts at a time like this) got caught on the back of my bike seat.  I, of course, did not know this.  Until it was too late.  Until I stood up.  And my skirt didn't.    My skirt didn't.  I was standing up, holding on tightly to the handlebars with both hands and my skirt was glued to the back of my seat.    I was mooning the town of Simsbury.  And every man, woman, child and turtle who had been about to pass me slowed down and stared.  At me.  And my moon.  

Help me, Sigmund.