the return of bike riding

As you may have read here, I am not an expert in the bike riding department (which probably has something to do with the mysterious disappearance of my lovely pink beach cruiser). Despite this unfortunate fact I have recently inherited a blue beach cruiser from my new mother-in-law! While it is not as new or shiny as my old bike, it rides wonderfully. Well, as wonderful as the person who happens to be steering it. On the weekends Clayton and I ride our bikes to our local coffee spot and during the week we sometimes ride them to happy hour. I have most recently started riding my bike to work. And this my friends is where the return of my bike riding tales begins:

It was a fine morning just a few weeks ago when I set out on my blue cruiser. The early morning air (okay, it was a little after 7...) was still refreshingly cool on my skin. I was running just the teeniest bit late and had decided to save myself a few minutes and take my coffee on the go. I had been riding my bike to work for approximately three days, so I felt like the challenge of balancing a scolding mug of precious mocha coconut coffee freshly brewed from my Keurig (Thanks Sara, TC, and Lane!) would be a piece of cake. It was a shaky start but once I reached the bike lane I was set: left hand steering the bike, owl mug in my right fully extended arm, and my brown Coach bag slung over my left shoulder. I was admiring myself for not veering too badly when I came upon my first obstacle, speed bumps.

Note to self: Why? Why do my neighbors have to speed racer down third avenue!?!?! Don't they realize going over speed bumps with an almost-full cup of coffee is a terrible idea!?

Shockingly I made it over the speed bump and the next two without spilling a drop. Ha! I showed the citizens of Willow. I was on my way to becoming a bike master.  Then I came to the crosswalk.

I mentioned I was running late, right? I decided to dismount my bike and pop up on the curb to press the 'pedestrian crossing' button in hopes that the light would change faster. The light was going to change and I was going to hop back on my bike and gracefully cross Thomas without being late. I hauled my body across my bike and after some arranging (it is actually quite hard to get back on said bike with a large shoulder bag and only the use of your left arm) I began to pedal across the crosswalk.

Note to self: Really Aimee? Do you need to haul the large bag to work EVERYDAY? Not only is your balance shot, no one even gets to see how fab it really is because all it does is sit in a locked cubby all day. Definitely switching into the smaller one ASAP.

 Except the thing about beach cruisers is, is that they are only one speed with coaster brakes. Since I had only been riding my bike at short intermittent times, I had not mastered the ability to get a rolling start from the brake position I had left my pedals in (to be quite honest, I am still mastering that one). With a quick 22 seconds I begin to push my left pedal down and hop myself and my bike across the crosswalk, right arm still extended. (Imagine if you will a bike-pogo stick combination) Halfway across I get the pedals far enough around that I can finally bring my right foot up onto the bike and begin to make up some time. With 13 seconds to go I begin to race to the far side of the street not taking notice of the uneven asphalting in my path. With a bump, my favorite morning drink is hurled from the cute owl mug and into the air. My khakis have been rained on and a large stain sits on my right shin. The next bump sends coffee across my glasses and into my hair.

Once I reach the other side of the street I decide to walk my bike the remaining short distance into my building. (I have received permission to park my blue cruiser on the storage floor at work since one got nabbed off of the bike racks right in front of the security office) Once I get myself and what is left of my morning caffeine up the wheelchair ramp I found myself in the lobby. The seven minute ride from my house to work has demonstrated the lack of muscle and coordination I have, especially in my left arm. I place my bag on the floor so I may better balance the bike and the cup of coffee while pressing the 'up' button for the elevator. Bad move. Trying to compensate I lean too far to the left and my bike goes flying out from underneath me and takes out my bag and my left pant leg. There I was standing in the first floor lobby with my belongings sprawled across the floor, my bike completely on its side, my pants covered in black and brown stains, puffy pink cheeks, dripping hair, and a quarter cup of coffee. 

All in all I learned that:

-Keurig don't make their coffee cold
-It takes me 10 extra minutes to ride my bike one handed to work
-Bike tire marks only disappear after scrubbing Coach bags for what seems like forever

i hope my boss didn't see me.

missing: my bike

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...
(or what I would classify as another disaster)

Just 13 days ago I decided to have a productive Friday and forced myself out of bed around 10:00am to go downtown to work on a presentation project rather than lay in my bathing suit acquiring skin cancer. I hopped on my white beach cruiser (with really neat-o pink accents) and cycled down to the light rail stop. After multiple attempts on my life by oblivious drivers I decided to cut through campus and lock my bike up on one of racks, as there are a plethora at the Rural and University light rail stop (and I have been banned from bringing my bike on the light rail).

I took the train downtown where I had a semi-productive day of working on my presentation while distracting my colleague and wonderful confidant Kellen from his home work, and annoying Dr. Ariel Rodriguez. Luckily for them my partner in crime and fellow blogger Candi was in her office just down the hall. We took an hour and a half lunch break and walked down to Baja Fresh where I purchased a ridiculously large cup and filled it to the brim with fountain Coca-Cola, my favorite drink. When we got back from lunch we pretended to work while we chatted about Candi's secret love and Dirty Dancing II: Havana Nights via ASU Google email chat. When I was no longer bearable Dr. Rodriguez shut his door and Kellen pretended he had a meeting to attend. Candi and I decided to head back to Tempe, as we were exhausted from lunch and gossiping. After swinging by Mojo (we really deserved frozen yogurt) I was dropped off at the light rail stop because I didn't want to leave my bike all alone overnight on the bike racks.

My poor, unsuspecting self hopped out of the car and shimmied (I was listening to Pandora on my phone, officially the coolest thing EVER) across the bus station to where I had parked my bike. I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when I started getting close to the seemingly empty bike racks. I looked left, and I looked right. I turned all the way around, but I still could not find my glorious hunk of white and pink medal that I so shakily had ridden to the exact spot earlier in the day. I continued to look about the scene as my eyes started to tear.



The bus stop weirdo's stared at me like I was the odd one, and one man even tried to help me locate the bus I was looking for. But it wasn't public transportation I was looking for, it was my bike which now appeared to be stolen. At a loss for words and with watery eyes I started the long walk home.

Despite a love struck Jack Johnson serenading my ears I could not shake the feeling of a broken heart. The fifteen minute walk seemed to go on for 15 years as I watched other ASU comrades fly by me on skateboards, scooters, and most painful of all: bicycles. I thought of my fellow PRSA officer Mark, who had his bike stolen just a few weeks before (however his loss was greater than mine, as he is actually good at riding bikes). He consoled me by suggesting our bikes found each other in bike heaven somewhere, or where ever it is that bike thieves take our precious pieces of finely crafted machinery.

I must admit that when passing by a beach cruiser on or near campus I perform a double take hoping that one day justice will be served and my ridiculously heavy and poorly ridden bike will come back to me. In the mean time this cruel act has left me with but one mission. I must find another bike to dodge death upon, spill my coffee on, and take on the light rail (maybe) so next semester I can sleep for ten more minutes before starting yet another adventure.

but i never went to bike academy

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure....

... or disaster, rather.

Let me just preface this by saying that I believe individuals should have to go to a bike riding school, similar to driving school in order to own a bike. I would also like to point out that if this were a requirement, I would not be graduating from bike academy for quite some time.

This afternoon my suite mate and close friend, Sara and I decided to grab a coffee from Dutch Bros. one of the best coffee places in the vicinity of the Tempe Campus. As of late Sara and I have become quite consumed with bike riding, so naturally we hopped on our beach cruisers and headed down to the irresistible coffee stand. The journey there was a successful one and the insanity didn't start until after I received my skinny, iced, raspberry white chocolate mocha.

As already mentioned I am not too confident in my bike riding skills, so I was extremely nervous to be biking with one hand (the other was being used to hold my AMAZING coffee). As I was preceding down Rural road to the light rail stop I was almost hit by a car turning right into a parking lot. After lots of swerving and almost falling twice I continued upright to the light rail station. It was then I learned the valuable lesson that individuals driving cars with their windows up cannot hear my shrieks of fear, or me shouting obscenities after catching my balance. (Honestly, this may be for the best.)

I was screeching into the light rail station at the exact moment the light rail was. Unfortunately for me this meant I would have no time to lock up my bike and would have to take it with me on the metro if I wanted to be on time. I would like to interject here and confide with you that the muscles in my arms are nonexistent. If you have been on the light rail you already know that bikes are hung up on the metro. Since I have no upper body strength I cannot lift my bike onto the rack and so I must sit my bicycle in front of me. This seems to annoy most of the passengers in my vicinity, especially when there is room for my bike on the rack.

I have never been accused of being couth and graceful. It was quite difficult for me to get myself, my large sorority bag, my delicious coffee, and my beach cruiser situated on the fairly busy light rail car. After three minutes of moving and shuffling while making awkward faces I was settled.

(In bike academy you would learn how to do things with your bicycle like hang it from tricky racks on the metro and set it in confusing bike holders on the bus.)

Two or three stops after I had joined the mass transit headed downtown, others with bikes joined us. I was terribly embarrassed when a girl about half my size got on with her insanely cool road bike (it had zebra print handlebars which matched her red shoes and indie chic look) and lifted it into the bike rack. Not only did I feel even more ridiculous for not being able to put my bike with its other counterparts, I now had the attention of the entire car who undoubtedly were wondering why on earth I couldn't put my bike away as easily as her.

Somewhere between the 44th Street and Washington and the 24th Street and Washington I decided that putting my ipod on would be a good idea. Which would have been fine if I was organized. I was bobbing my head and swaying my shoulders to the sound of Nizlopi when I came to my stop. As I was making my much awaited exit from the metro my headphone cords caught on one of the bikes hanging in the ever-defeating bike rack. I didn't notice this until my breathing became restricted and I slammed my head into the bike seat of yet another hanging bike. The gentleman (which he was indeed not) across from me thought he would help me and my cruiser along by giving me a slight shove in the direction toward the door.

My oxygen flow came back after my headphone popped out of my ear allowing me to stumble out of the light rail car, barely avoiding two pedestrians and a small child. (At bike academy they would teach everyone that ipods and bicycles don't mix.)

I am now dreading the ride home tonight, as I will have to travel back to Tempe with my beach cruiser. Even if I make a fool of myself and get into several near death experiences I will celebrate (with Nizlopi, and my paper crown) upon arrival at Adelphi. Like Nizlopi says...

It's time to throw away your doubt
Throw away your blues
Wake up in the morning
Tear up the news

(I will also look up some information on a bike academy!)