We've written about the drought. We've sent you e-mails in January complaining about how bloody hot it is. No doubt we've created the impression that Melbourne is the land of eternal sunshine.
Well, let us correct that impression. It has been raining. And cold. Every day. For the past two weeks. And since we are approaching the winter solstice, it is also dark. Early. As we go into work and before we go home.
No wonder everyone wears black here. It suits the current mood.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Marlys & Nita - Not Quite Thelma & Louise
While Matt was in the US Marlys has a visit from our sister-in-law, Nita. Nita is “the runner”. She’s run a marathon in all 50 states, every Canadian province (however many those are), and all 7 continents. Nita is now going to honor our time in Australia by running a marathon in all 8 Australian states. She's already ticked off Queensland and came to run in our home state of Victoria and the ACT (Australian Capitol Territory, aka Canberra).
Marlys and Nita hit the town while she was here. One trip was to the Crown Casino, the big Vegas style casino (complete with light and fire shows, cabarets, and swank restaurants) in the middle of Melbourne and right on the Yarra River. Nita and Marlys have gambled before – during a girl’s long weekend with Marlys' Grandma Impi in Vegas in the early 90’s and once when they used the woman's bathroom at the Great Wall in China (a story not really fit for these blog pages!).
The Melbourne casino doesn’t have video poker but it does have blackjack. Nita under-budgeted and over-lost. Marlys had not played blackjack since the Vegas trip with Nita years ago - she plays 3 card poker these days. Fortunately it all came back to her and she went up $75. At which point Nita pounced and announced Marlys was buying dinner. While at the table they met a few blokes, started "the wave", and had people betting on their hands. Marlys earned 5 pairs with one hand, paying out at 25 to one. There was one crazy hand where the dealer almost ran out of table for his cards. He dealt himself 4 - 3 - 2 - 3 - ace - 2 - ace - 8 and he kept counting his cards until Marlys yelled out, "Dude, you got like...an 89!!" which cracked up the whole table. Then someone chimed, "you can keep counting but you lost...pay us!!!".
Many of Melbourne’s city highlights are centered around the CBD (Central Business District – Melbourne’s ‘downtown’). Nita soon became very familiar with the CBD and all it had to offer. But there was one perplexing traffic move – the hook turn. Ahhhh, hook turns. Melbourne has instituted this unique driving phenomenon because of the trams running down the middle of the road in the CBD. Since you drive on the left in Australia, when you want to turn right you would block the tram tracks if you waited in the middle of the road to make your turn. So instead, you turn on your right indicator and proceed to the far LEFT lane, wait for the green light to turn to RED and THEN cross 6 lanes of traffic and two tram lines to complete your right turn. Nita's new favorite pastime became waiting for the subsequent crash which she expected to happen any moment. Her second favorite thing was when multiple cars and a motorcycle are all waiting to turn right. Hook turns are only found in Melbourne so you're just going to have to come here to see one for yourself!!!
Marlys and Nita hit the town while she was here. One trip was to the Crown Casino, the big Vegas style casino (complete with light and fire shows, cabarets, and swank restaurants) in the middle of Melbourne and right on the Yarra River. Nita and Marlys have gambled before – during a girl’s long weekend with Marlys' Grandma Impi in Vegas in the early 90’s and once when they used the woman's bathroom at the Great Wall in China (a story not really fit for these blog pages!).
The Melbourne casino doesn’t have video poker but it does have blackjack. Nita under-budgeted and over-lost. Marlys had not played blackjack since the Vegas trip with Nita years ago - she plays 3 card poker these days. Fortunately it all came back to her and she went up $75. At which point Nita pounced and announced Marlys was buying dinner. While at the table they met a few blokes, started "the wave", and had people betting on their hands. Marlys earned 5 pairs with one hand, paying out at 25 to one. There was one crazy hand where the dealer almost ran out of table for his cards. He dealt himself 4 - 3 - 2 - 3 - ace - 2 - ace - 8 and he kept counting his cards until Marlys yelled out, "Dude, you got like...an 89!!" which cracked up the whole table. Then someone chimed, "you can keep counting but you lost...pay us!!!".
Many of Melbourne’s city highlights are centered around the CBD (Central Business District – Melbourne’s ‘downtown’). Nita soon became very familiar with the CBD and all it had to offer. But there was one perplexing traffic move – the hook turn. Ahhhh, hook turns. Melbourne has instituted this unique driving phenomenon because of the trams running down the middle of the road in the CBD. Since you drive on the left in Australia, when you want to turn right you would block the tram tracks if you waited in the middle of the road to make your turn. So instead, you turn on your right indicator and proceed to the far LEFT lane, wait for the green light to turn to RED and THEN cross 6 lanes of traffic and two tram lines to complete your right turn. Nita's new favorite pastime became waiting for the subsequent crash which she expected to happen any moment. Her second favorite thing was when multiple cars and a motorcycle are all waiting to turn right. Hook turns are only found in Melbourne so you're just going to have to come here to see one for yourself!!!
Saturday, April 19, 2008
And in Today's News....
You’ve heard it before - Australians are a sports-mad people. I know we’ve written it in this blog, and if you Google “sports mad Australians” you’ll get 229,000 hits (now 229,001 with this post). So I’m never surprised that a sports story is on the front page of the paper.
But last week was something else. Here’s what happened. A footy player, Barry Hall of the Sydney Swans, king hit another player in the middle of a match. “King hit” is Australian for “sucker punch”. Not sure why they call it a king hit. Maybe something to do with that famous pugilistic poobah, Don King? Or maybe Billy Jean? Anyhoo, it was captured live on TV and in lots of lurid photographs.
Since then both daily papers – The Age (lefty intellectual broadsheet) and the Herald Sun (Rupert Murdoch’s right wing tabloid) have had stories about Hall and his punch on the front page every single day, with banner headlines and lots of pictures. The stories do vary. Some are about Hall, some about the guy he hit, some about famous “king hits” in the past, sometimes they trot out a neurosurgeon to discuss possible brain injury, etc, etc. But come on people – isn’t there anything more important to write about? Australia have soldiers dying in Afghanistan, there’s a drought on, there are car crashes, and the police are having sex with transvestites in the station houses (no, I did not make that up). At a minimum, Brittany Spears must have done something in the last week!
But no, the king hit stories continued until Friday (a full week after the punch), when the Herald Sun finally led with a different story: they tracked down footy’s most famous female streaker somewhere in the bush of the Northern Territories and scooped an interview. You gotta give it up for the Sun, they found the perfect story: combine sports and naked women, and you can even splash a picture of the woman au natural on the front page to give us some historical context.
Good onya, Rupert.
But last week was something else. Here’s what happened. A footy player, Barry Hall of the Sydney Swans, king hit another player in the middle of a match. “King hit” is Australian for “sucker punch”. Not sure why they call it a king hit. Maybe something to do with that famous pugilistic poobah, Don King? Or maybe Billy Jean? Anyhoo, it was captured live on TV and in lots of lurid photographs.
Since then both daily papers – The Age (lefty intellectual broadsheet) and the Herald Sun (Rupert Murdoch’s right wing tabloid) have had stories about Hall and his punch on the front page every single day, with banner headlines and lots of pictures. The stories do vary. Some are about Hall, some about the guy he hit, some about famous “king hits” in the past, sometimes they trot out a neurosurgeon to discuss possible brain injury, etc, etc. But come on people – isn’t there anything more important to write about? Australia have soldiers dying in Afghanistan, there’s a drought on, there are car crashes, and the police are having sex with transvestites in the station houses (no, I did not make that up). At a minimum, Brittany Spears must have done something in the last week!
But no, the king hit stories continued until Friday (a full week after the punch), when the Herald Sun finally led with a different story: they tracked down footy’s most famous female streaker somewhere in the bush of the Northern Territories and scooped an interview. You gotta give it up for the Sun, they found the perfect story: combine sports and naked women, and you can even splash a picture of the woman au natural on the front page to give us some historical context.
Good onya, Rupert.
Friday, April 18, 2008
A Look at That Bike
Judging by our reader mailbag, the "Marlys Gets a Bike" story is the runaway crowd favorite. So here's a picture of Marlys and her new machine (Please pronounced the "ch" as you would in "charge"). Trust us - it has wheels.
Matt’s Quarterly Commute or How to Have a Layover
Judging by the “fan” mail, some of you noticed the dearth of new posts in the last month. Sorry to have disappointed our dear readers, but Matt was back in the States for a couple weeks and Marlys was busy entertaining guests. And oh, yeah - we have jobs, too. However, we do have some half-written posts we are going to finish and display as soon as we have a chance. But here’s something to whet your appetite until we can give you another stirring story of our Australian adventure.
Matt left the Twin Cities last Thursday and was due to arrive in Melbourne on Saturday morning. He had a 7 PM flight from MSP to LA, a two and a half hour layover, then the long flight to Melbourne. Matt normally takes the 5 PM flight from MSP because he doesn’t want to worry about him or his bags making the connection in LA. But this time the travel agent mistakenly put him on the 7 PM and he didn’t bother to change it. A critical error.
As many of you know, the weather in the Twin Cities was terrible that Thursday. Cold with a sort of rain/snow/slush combo precipitation. As a result: the airport was down to one runway for a couple hours, and they even closed for a time. The 7 PM departure became 8:45, and eventually, after an hour of sitting on the ground followed by nearly an hour de-icing, 10 PM. Matt finally arrived in LA at the uncivilized hour of 12:30 AM. (Question: 12:30 is written 0:30 on the 24 hour clock, which captures the late hour much better, don’t you think?). Qantas #94 to Melbourne was somewhere over the Catalina Islands by then.
The problem with missing the connection in LA is that all flights to Australia, whether going direct to Melbourne or Sydney or getting there via a connection, leave within a 3 hour window starting at 9 PM. So if you miss your flight, you can’t "grab the next one" or go "first thing the next morning". Matt faced the prospect of a full day in the City of Angels, no doubt in some cockroach infested fleabag hotel supplied (grudgingly) by Northwest.
All this sounds like the beginning of one of those nightmare travel stories, but thankfully it’s nothing of the sort. While still in the Twin Cities, but knowing there was no way on earth he was getting on his Qantas flight that night, Matt called our friend Anne, who lives in LA, and asked if he could spend the night at her place. And not only did Anne pick him up at the airport at 1 AM (01:00), she called the airline and got him confirmed on the next flight to Melbourne (tomorrow) while he was winging his way over the Great Plains.
So Friday, rather than being spent sitting in the El Roach-o Motel and desperately dialing to get onto a plane to Oz, proceeded completely differently. Anne lives on the beach and it was a gorgeous day in LA, so Matt slept in, got a few work projects done, took a long walk on the beach, followed by burrito lunch, a few hours reading on the beach, and then a Mexican dinner with Anne. (As many of you know, the dearth of Mexicans in Australia means there is absolutely no decent Mexican food on the continent, so the opportunity to inhale as many tortilla chips, black beans, and carnitas as possible is not to be missed). After a few cerveza and great conversation, Anne took Matt to lovely LAX, where he leisurely caught the flight to Melbourne and Marlys. Now THAT’s how an unexpected layover should work.
Thanks Anne!
Matt left the Twin Cities last Thursday and was due to arrive in Melbourne on Saturday morning. He had a 7 PM flight from MSP to LA, a two and a half hour layover, then the long flight to Melbourne. Matt normally takes the 5 PM flight from MSP because he doesn’t want to worry about him or his bags making the connection in LA. But this time the travel agent mistakenly put him on the 7 PM and he didn’t bother to change it. A critical error.
As many of you know, the weather in the Twin Cities was terrible that Thursday. Cold with a sort of rain/snow/slush combo precipitation. As a result: the airport was down to one runway for a couple hours, and they even closed for a time. The 7 PM departure became 8:45, and eventually, after an hour of sitting on the ground followed by nearly an hour de-icing, 10 PM. Matt finally arrived in LA at the uncivilized hour of 12:30 AM. (Question: 12:30 is written 0:30 on the 24 hour clock, which captures the late hour much better, don’t you think?). Qantas #94 to Melbourne was somewhere over the Catalina Islands by then.
The problem with missing the connection in LA is that all flights to Australia, whether going direct to Melbourne or Sydney or getting there via a connection, leave within a 3 hour window starting at 9 PM. So if you miss your flight, you can’t "grab the next one" or go "first thing the next morning". Matt faced the prospect of a full day in the City of Angels, no doubt in some cockroach infested fleabag hotel supplied (grudgingly) by Northwest.
All this sounds like the beginning of one of those nightmare travel stories, but thankfully it’s nothing of the sort. While still in the Twin Cities, but knowing there was no way on earth he was getting on his Qantas flight that night, Matt called our friend Anne, who lives in LA, and asked if he could spend the night at her place. And not only did Anne pick him up at the airport at 1 AM (01:00), she called the airline and got him confirmed on the next flight to Melbourne (tomorrow) while he was winging his way over the Great Plains.
So Friday, rather than being spent sitting in the El Roach-o Motel and desperately dialing to get onto a plane to Oz, proceeded completely differently. Anne lives on the beach and it was a gorgeous day in LA, so Matt slept in, got a few work projects done, took a long walk on the beach, followed by burrito lunch, a few hours reading on the beach, and then a Mexican dinner with Anne. (As many of you know, the dearth of Mexicans in Australia means there is absolutely no decent Mexican food on the continent, so the opportunity to inhale as many tortilla chips, black beans, and carnitas as possible is not to be missed). After a few cerveza and great conversation, Anne took Matt to lovely LAX, where he leisurely caught the flight to Melbourne and Marlys. Now THAT’s how an unexpected layover should work.
Thanks Anne!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Stargazing
The Southern Cross is a constellation visible only in the southern hemisphere. It's also called this because the 4 stars of the cross point due south - like the big dipper pointing to the North Star back home. The most common place to see it is on the Australian flag. The second most common place is the kiwi flag. Third most common is in the sky, and that's where your intrepid explorers ran into a bit of trouble.
Ever since we first came to Australia in 2003 we've wanted to see the Southern Cross. On that trip we were out on the Coral Sea and Marlys asked the captain if he could point out the cross for her. "Sure love. Come up on deck at 3 AM and it will be bright and visible." 3 AM? Never saw the cross that trip.
We figured once we moved here we'd definitely see the Southern Cross. And with our view over Port Phillip Bay, surely it would just jump out at us on a clear night. Right? Alas, no. When the stars came out, there were so many there was no way to tell which one was the Southern Cross. "Is that it? Or maybe that?"
Eventually it got to be a running joke. We'd get off the tram at night and as we walked to the house one of us would say "Oh honey, there's the Southern Cross" and point in a random direction. The other would say "Yep - looks beautiful tonight." Then we'd grind our teeth in frustration. Stupid stars.
But lo and behold we finally saw the Southern Cross – or perhaps finally identified the Southern Cross would be more accurate. Here's how it happened. First, someone informed us the cross on the flag is a bit misleading. The Southern Cross is lying on its side. What? Can't these people get the stupid flag right? I mean, it's not like the stars were periodically changing position or something! So all the time we were looking for the pole star that didn't exist.
Next, someone correctly identified south for us. Yes, we were gazing sort of east southeast instead of south the whole time. Look, we're not voyageurs and if we needed to know the cardinal points 24 hours a day, we'd buy a compass.
Armed with these two important pieces of data, we looked up (and south). And there it was!! Just like on the flag - if the flag is held up at a 90 degree angle that is.
These days we point it out all the time, which has deprived us of one good running gag but, on the other hand, we always know where south is located. We'll never get lost in Oz now - unless it's cloudy.
One other celestial discovery. Being south of the equator the "normal" constellations are upside down. Yep, when you look at Orion he is doing a handstand, although his sword somehow defies gravity. Australians call Orion "the saucepot". Some say this is because the constellation looks like a pot when turned upside down. Other's say it's because Orion was a heavy drinker. IF he's an Aussie - bet on the latter
Ever since we first came to Australia in 2003 we've wanted to see the Southern Cross. On that trip we were out on the Coral Sea and Marlys asked the captain if he could point out the cross for her. "Sure love. Come up on deck at 3 AM and it will be bright and visible." 3 AM? Never saw the cross that trip.
We figured once we moved here we'd definitely see the Southern Cross. And with our view over Port Phillip Bay, surely it would just jump out at us on a clear night. Right? Alas, no. When the stars came out, there were so many there was no way to tell which one was the Southern Cross. "Is that it? Or maybe that?"
Eventually it got to be a running joke. We'd get off the tram at night and as we walked to the house one of us would say "Oh honey, there's the Southern Cross" and point in a random direction. The other would say "Yep - looks beautiful tonight." Then we'd grind our teeth in frustration. Stupid stars.
But lo and behold we finally saw the Southern Cross – or perhaps finally identified the Southern Cross would be more accurate. Here's how it happened. First, someone informed us the cross on the flag is a bit misleading. The Southern Cross is lying on its side. What? Can't these people get the stupid flag right? I mean, it's not like the stars were periodically changing position or something! So all the time we were looking for the pole star that didn't exist.
Next, someone correctly identified south for us. Yes, we were gazing sort of east southeast instead of south the whole time. Look, we're not voyageurs and if we needed to know the cardinal points 24 hours a day, we'd buy a compass.
Armed with these two important pieces of data, we looked up (and south). And there it was!! Just like on the flag - if the flag is held up at a 90 degree angle that is.
These days we point it out all the time, which has deprived us of one good running gag but, on the other hand, we always know where south is located. We'll never get lost in Oz now - unless it's cloudy.
One other celestial discovery. Being south of the equator the "normal" constellations are upside down. Yep, when you look at Orion he is doing a handstand, although his sword somehow defies gravity. Australians call Orion "the saucepot". Some say this is because the constellation looks like a pot when turned upside down. Other's say it's because Orion was a heavy drinker. IF he's an Aussie - bet on the latter
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Marlys’ New Bike: The most Dangerous Thing on Two Wheels
First let’s start by saying Marlys hasn’t ridden a bike in over 30 years. What? Noooo. How can that possibly be…? Let me tell you it’s true. I was probably 13 years old (so almost 33 years ago) the seat was of the banana variety and you reversed your right leg in order to brake.
Melbourne is a great city for bike-riders – very flat (except in the downtown area) and lots of parks and dedicated bike paths including one along the ocean right out our front door. Beautiful bikes gliding along a scenic path. I wanted to be one of those people. I wanted a bike.
So I bought a bike. We have a local bike shop just a couple blocks away – great brands (said Matt) with knowledgeable sales staff (said the sign). I was excited! I had just started browsing – blue bikes, green bikes, black bikes, and red bikes. This was early in the day when I thought color would be my only worry. I soon discovered bikes have changed. I told my sales guy I didn't need something as "fancy” as a ten speed....Matt and the guy exchanged glances. “Honey, they don’t make 10 speeds anymore”, Matt said gently. Oh. “Well, what’s the lowest amount of speeds?”, I asked. I just wanted the most basic of bikes. I ended up with a 21 speed - which I understand is indeed about the lowest possible. I would also like to state for the record that I was tricked. My sales guy said it was a three speed (but had 7 possible gears for each). 3x7 = 21. I hate math.
After we bought the bike, a bike helmet (I managed to refrain from buying one with flames painted on the side), and a bike lock, my sales guy referred me to Rocky. “Rocky teaches everyone to ride.” he claimed. Rocky was a tall, fit, good looking Italian (Greek?) with a black mustache. He shook my hand with both hands. You know what I mean? You shake with one hand and then cover the hand with another? I love that. I was ready to put my life in Rocky’s hands. He made me feel safe and said with complete confidence that he would have me ‘up and biking’ in 5 minutes. I thought to myself, I love Rocky.
We walked the bike to the side of the building. Rocky demonstrated how to ‘walk’ the bike, simultaneously holding onto the left handle and the seat. This will give you control of the bike, he said. He was right! What a master! How easy to move the bike around!
Rocky takes his job seriously. He said, “First, I will teach you how to get on the bike.” I smiled thinking, it’s been awhile since I rode – a long while – but I’m pretty confident I can figure out how to get on the dang thing. I giggled at his thoroughness, “I need a lesson about how to get on?” Rocky replied, “Yes, because you haven’t ridden in years and now you are old & you need to protect your back.” I hate Rocky.
Rocky demonstrated how you grip the handbrakes, tilt the bike toward you, step your right foot over to the other side, and then tilt the bike upright. I had to admit this was a pretty slick move.
“Now sit,” commanded Rocky. Matt had picked out a ‘nice comfortable seat’. What I wasn’t ready for was the shock absorbers my bike has. Gooosh. The bike sank a couple inches.
“Push forward on the foot pedal!” said Rocky giving me a little shove, “And…you’re ready to ride!” Errrrrrrrrttttt!!! I fell forward and looked at Rocky accusingly. “Sorry! Release the hand brakes!!! And……you’re ready to ride!!!” And indeed, unfettered by the brake, I was riding.
I. Was. Riding.
Me! On a bike!
Uh-oh. Too fast! I put my feet out in an instinctive Fred Flintstone move. Rocky came running. “Good!” he commented, “but this time try to incorporate using the handbrake to come to a stop.” Wisely he showed me which brake was for the front and back wheels.
I tried again. And again. I felt like I was getting the hang of this bike!
Rocky came up to me, “ Very good. Now, tell me, do you have any artificial limbs? Or corrective devices?” Apparently I was riding with my knees wide apart which resulted in a wobble so alarming he determined it must be due to a prosthetic leg. I assured him that no, these are indeed, for better or worse, my own legs, knees, and feet.
The coaching was constant. Keep your head up! Your knees together! Even more together! Shoulders down! Don’t forget to use the hand brake! Smile! he instructed. Again. And again. Finally Rocky was confident enough to pronounce me ready to go. I love Rocky.
My first few rides were torture. Who knew how hazardous biking was? Those gorgeous bike lanes I yearned to ride where fraught with risk. There’s a ball rolling toward me, a dog that’s not on a leash, a small child! Danger! There’s another bike coming RIGHT AT ME! So much to concentrate on…sitting upright, keeping my knees together… everything Rocky taught me echoing in my ears until Matt, looking over his shoulder from 20 yards down the road starts yelling, “Are you coming?!”
In spite of having to endure the embarrassment of having 5 and 6 year olds wait until I was done with my riding lesson and the enormous danger (OK, potential danger) of riding, I am enjoying the bike. The sun shining on my face and the feeling of the wind in my hair as my hands grip the handles so tightly I get muscle strain in my wrists and arms. That’s what it’s like after 30 years.
One last thing. If one more person comments on how easy it is to get back in the saddle, or says "it's like riding a bike..." I will have to hurt them.
Melbourne is a great city for bike-riders – very flat (except in the downtown area) and lots of parks and dedicated bike paths including one along the ocean right out our front door. Beautiful bikes gliding along a scenic path. I wanted to be one of those people. I wanted a bike.
So I bought a bike. We have a local bike shop just a couple blocks away – great brands (said Matt) with knowledgeable sales staff (said the sign). I was excited! I had just started browsing – blue bikes, green bikes, black bikes, and red bikes. This was early in the day when I thought color would be my only worry. I soon discovered bikes have changed. I told my sales guy I didn't need something as "fancy” as a ten speed....Matt and the guy exchanged glances. “Honey, they don’t make 10 speeds anymore”, Matt said gently. Oh. “Well, what’s the lowest amount of speeds?”, I asked. I just wanted the most basic of bikes. I ended up with a 21 speed - which I understand is indeed about the lowest possible. I would also like to state for the record that I was tricked. My sales guy said it was a three speed (but had 7 possible gears for each). 3x7 = 21. I hate math.
After we bought the bike, a bike helmet (I managed to refrain from buying one with flames painted on the side), and a bike lock, my sales guy referred me to Rocky. “Rocky teaches everyone to ride.” he claimed. Rocky was a tall, fit, good looking Italian (Greek?) with a black mustache. He shook my hand with both hands. You know what I mean? You shake with one hand and then cover the hand with another? I love that. I was ready to put my life in Rocky’s hands. He made me feel safe and said with complete confidence that he would have me ‘up and biking’ in 5 minutes. I thought to myself, I love Rocky.
We walked the bike to the side of the building. Rocky demonstrated how to ‘walk’ the bike, simultaneously holding onto the left handle and the seat. This will give you control of the bike, he said. He was right! What a master! How easy to move the bike around!
Rocky takes his job seriously. He said, “First, I will teach you how to get on the bike.” I smiled thinking, it’s been awhile since I rode – a long while – but I’m pretty confident I can figure out how to get on the dang thing. I giggled at his thoroughness, “I need a lesson about how to get on?” Rocky replied, “Yes, because you haven’t ridden in years and now you are old & you need to protect your back.” I hate Rocky.
Rocky demonstrated how you grip the handbrakes, tilt the bike toward you, step your right foot over to the other side, and then tilt the bike upright. I had to admit this was a pretty slick move.
“Now sit,” commanded Rocky. Matt had picked out a ‘nice comfortable seat’. What I wasn’t ready for was the shock absorbers my bike has. Gooosh. The bike sank a couple inches.
“Push forward on the foot pedal!” said Rocky giving me a little shove, “And…you’re ready to ride!” Errrrrrrrrttttt!!! I fell forward and looked at Rocky accusingly. “Sorry! Release the hand brakes!!! And……you’re ready to ride!!!” And indeed, unfettered by the brake, I was riding.
I. Was. Riding.
Me! On a bike!
Uh-oh. Too fast! I put my feet out in an instinctive Fred Flintstone move. Rocky came running. “Good!” he commented, “but this time try to incorporate using the handbrake to come to a stop.” Wisely he showed me which brake was for the front and back wheels.
I tried again. And again. I felt like I was getting the hang of this bike!
Rocky came up to me, “ Very good. Now, tell me, do you have any artificial limbs? Or corrective devices?” Apparently I was riding with my knees wide apart which resulted in a wobble so alarming he determined it must be due to a prosthetic leg. I assured him that no, these are indeed, for better or worse, my own legs, knees, and feet.
The coaching was constant. Keep your head up! Your knees together! Even more together! Shoulders down! Don’t forget to use the hand brake! Smile! he instructed. Again. And again. Finally Rocky was confident enough to pronounce me ready to go. I love Rocky.
My first few rides were torture. Who knew how hazardous biking was? Those gorgeous bike lanes I yearned to ride where fraught with risk. There’s a ball rolling toward me, a dog that’s not on a leash, a small child! Danger! There’s another bike coming RIGHT AT ME! So much to concentrate on…sitting upright, keeping my knees together… everything Rocky taught me echoing in my ears until Matt, looking over his shoulder from 20 yards down the road starts yelling, “Are you coming?!”
In spite of having to endure the embarrassment of having 5 and 6 year olds wait until I was done with my riding lesson and the enormous danger (OK, potential danger) of riding, I am enjoying the bike. The sun shining on my face and the feeling of the wind in my hair as my hands grip the handles so tightly I get muscle strain in my wrists and arms. That’s what it’s like after 30 years.
One last thing. If one more person comments on how easy it is to get back in the saddle, or says "it's like riding a bike..." I will have to hurt them.
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