I’m not a big fan of bikes.
I’m not talking motorcycles, because while I’d love to own one and act all tough while riding one, truth is I’d be scared out of my mind and end up wetting my pants – which I think would drastically take away from my Biker Image.
I’m talking straight bicycles.
Two summers ago Ari and I bought shiny, new bikes and we rode them everywhere.
We’d ride them to the park and laugh at the people who were different than us.
We’d ride them to a local Mexican restaurant, drink margaritas, then Ari would almost crash into parked cars on our way back home.
But that was then and last summer – well, we didn’t ride at all. And I’m really okay with that.
I just don’t like bikes. I don’t get them.
I don’t get riding “for the fun of it” and I certainly don’t get riding for competition or exercise. As far as I’m concerned Lance Armstrong is a complete idiot.
Riding a bike always ends the same way for me: I end up getting bored and thinking, “Well, there’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”
When I was a kid the only way I could be coaxed into riding bikes is if we played Top Gun and I could put a baseball card in the spoke so it made that annoying engine sound. Looking back, I don’t know why my fighter jet required a motorcycle-like sound to function, but back then it was imperative for me.
I didn’t like bikes then and as I’ve aged I still have never developed that love for bikes that most people seem to have.
When someone asks me now if I have a bike and then says, “Don’t you just love riding?” I always shrug my shoulders and reply, “I gotta tell you, I really don’t. I’d just rather not do it, so let’s just forget the whole thing.”
I’ll walk and I’ll run, but biking is out of the question. If I wanted to be bored, I’d watch the Food Network.