My bike is a commuter bike.
I bought it for the purpose of getting me places. Picking up groceries. Running errands. Riding to the coffee shop.
It is not built for speed or anything extreme.
But it is AWESOME. Chocolate body, blue rims, cream saddle and handles. I attached a silver wire basket on the front handlebars, which made my neighbor squeal, “Ooh, girl! Look at your little Toto basket!”
Also, I have a bell. I ring it frequently and inappropriately.
Sometimes I go out riding in the mornings and I catch myself grumbling and swearing. I get 10 kinds of frustrated over the fact that I’m not going as fast as the people on zoomy $2,000 Trek bikes. And that’s when I have to step back and remind myself, “Girl, you have a Toto basket. You are here for FUN.”
Today I rode farther than I ever have before. I came to a long stretch of road near Indian Canyons, where a beggar was camped out in the creosote bushes. He was draped over a stack of buckling cardboard boxes and bulging plastic bags. As I got closer, the man leapt to his feet.
“Oh no,” I instinctively thought. “What’s he going to do?”
Then the man smiled so wide, I swore the sun was peeking out from his teeth.
“There you go! There you GO!” he cheered and clapped his hands. “You are winning this race! Everyone else is behind you. Stay strong!”
It was wonderful. How could my day possibly go wrong after having my own personal cheerleader first thing in the morning?