Riding on BART is relaxing. It used to be part of my daily routine. I miss it. Now I only ride BART about a dozen times out of the year.
I miss riding my bike too. I have lots of excuses, and I haven’t been motivated. One excuse is that my bike has a flat tire. I’m afraid to pump it up for fear that someone may steal it. It’s an old bike, so I don’t know why anyone would want to take it. Where we live, there is only one spot to lock our bikes up and it’s out in the open facing the street. It’s a makeshift area not meant to lock bikes up.
The reason I’m worried is that when I had been given a bike, similar to my own, that was going into the trash heap for no other reason than the owner had acquired a new one, I took it to the bike shop for a tune up. It was a shiny red bike. I was looking forward to bike rides together and it was only a matter of a week and the red shiny bike was stolen.
This was at least six months ago or longer. It took me a moment to notice, as I would glance over at the bikes whenever I would walk by. I was disappointed. A tune up and a new heavy duty lock all for nothing. I didn’t want to make a fuss by calling the police and filing a police report. Instead, I thought to myself, someone must have needed the bike more than I did. I also did not want to exert loads of energy into what seemed a minor inconvenience in the scheme of things.
My other excuse is that I don’t live as close to the trail as I used to and the road that leads to the trail doesn’t have a path for bikes or walkers and is narrow. I don’t trust car drivers and I’ve seen too many reports of bike accidents. I can be a bit of a worry worm from time to time. I think that I should go ahead and pump air into the tire and quit quibbling about the bike. I know my body is craving for exercise. I have been doing a lot of sitting between reading, writing, and my job—too much sitting, really. I’m noticing the effects.
My own bike is black with purple lettering on it. It’s a mountain bike, even though I don’t go in the hills with it any longer and in my younger years did only a handful of times. Riding fast down bumpy roads was exhilarating. I prefer the ruggedness of a mountain bike. Mine is scuffed up and has some rust. The other bike was in much better shape physically than my own. I can see why, whoever it was, decided to take the other bike for his or her own.
The reason I got distracted with bike riding is that besides BART, riding my bike is the next best activity to enter a deep state of flow, of not thinking, of just being. I usually pull my notebook out in both cases. Bike riding lulls me away and clears my head. It’s calming, my muscles are put to good use, and thoughts fly in and out of my consciousness.
I need a change. Perhaps I’ll get that tire fixed. I don’t know if it has a flat or just needs air. I need to hop on and feel the wind blow across my face. I need to feel my body working and in tune with itself—in tune with all of me.