Biking…

I rediscovered biking last year. When our son got old enough and had a head big enough to wear a helmet and be parked be in a trailer, we bought ourselves some brand new bikes and some top-notch equipment, and went a-riding.

At first, I was elated. I felt like the child in me had come back, the 12-year-old who loved to go biking around her neighborhood. And I still enjoy our rides when the going is good.

The problem is:  we live at the bottom of a hill. A big hill. Since we have bikes and no car, we have decided to use them for transportation as much as possible so we save on booking cars from the Car Co-op and help the environment a little. That’s why we biked to our son’s birthday with 40 pounds of gear. That’s why last weekend, we biked to a friend’s house for a birthday party. It was about a 10 km ride, or more precisely 19 km round-trip.

But biking is hard. On the way to our friend’s place, it was almost all up, all the time. And I don’t really love suffering. Granted, afterward, I felt proud. Proud that I did it, proud that I didn’t need a car, proud that I didn’t spend a penny or waste a drop in gas, proud that I didn’t have to go to the gym after… I like the fact that I can use my bike to travel. But I can’t say I enjoy the ride when it’s hard. Of course, I liked the way back a lot better…

Tomorrow we’re planning on making it to another friend’s place. The ride is about 10km as well and we have never been that way, so we’re not sure exactly how hard it will be. It scares me, but then, what’s the worse that could happen? I have a lot of small gears, I can always stop and rest, I can always walk up the hill if I have to (although I would have to endure a bit of ridicule). And I know that after I will be proud and happily tired. But during… Well, let’s just not think about it!

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