Today, I joined the masses. I ran the two miles to my parents house (making up for the run I missed this morning, in my mind at least) and as per an arrangement I made with my dad early this week, took his old road bike off his hands.
The goal: bike the two miles to work when the weather allows it, helping to save some money on the recently raised cost of the monthly Metro-Card.
But here's the thing - I rarely rode a bike as a child. Growing up when I did, Brooklyn was not as bike friendly as it is today. I had a bike and I learned how to ride. Once I outgrew it, however, I never acquired a new one.
Until today.
My dad, who grew up in the suburbs, showed me up with his ease and grace getting on and off the red piece of metal. It's hard for him to look graceful doing anything, being all of 5'3" of stocky former high-school wrestler. The look on his face was terrified as I took off, much as I imagine he looked when he took the training wheels off my first bike. I called out to him: "If I don't call you in 20 minutes I'm dead. Come look for me."
My dad and I, we have an interesting relationship.
I tried riding the two miles home. Aside from slamming my crotch on the dismount a few times, I have to say, I'm looking forward to my new commute.
I do have to work on the dismount. A lot.
And yes, I called my dad.
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