My husband used his year-end bonus to buy me a commuter bike. No, ladies, he doesn’t have a brother. It was incredibly sweet of him, especially since I tend to receive bonuses in peanut butter handed hugs and blocky lettered love notes. Although the other day one of my little ones did try to pay me a shiny penny “for being a good teacher”.
Here’s my beautiful, new, pearl white bike. You’re allowed to drool.
Isn’t she gorgeous? Like all the ladies I like to hang around, she’s beautiful and she’s got brains.
Eight gears mean I’m able to easily get back up the hill from my school to my house.
The skirt guard means I can wear dresses and skirts to work and not get them tangled in my spokes, not that I’ve ever done that or anything. Ahem.
The chain guard makes it impossible for me to chainstamp myself on my way to work. This is important because when I ride The Rocket, I manage to get a greasy, black chainstamp on my leg nearly every ride. Sometimes I even manage to get one on the opposite leg. I’ve got skills.
The rack and strap on the back mean that I can attach panniers and haul a TON of stuff, important stuff like ice cream.
Lights on the front and back mean drivers see me. And get this, they smile at me. Farmers and cowboys can be friends. Sorry, I was watching Oklahoma! the other day. This bike is some sort of magical ambassador between motorists and cyclists. Strangers smile and wave at me from their cars. Passerby make comments like “Beautiful bike.” and “Sweet ride.”
I bought my new bike a handlebar basket and decked her out in matching Basil panniers and a bike purse with an adorable Babushka print. No way was I putting plain old bags on this classy gal. The Hubs even moved her from the garage to the bedroom on her first night at our house.
I’ve tried to make her feel welcome by riding her to and from school every day. The other day we raced a squirrel almost a full block. We totally won. Okay, it was by default because the squirrel ran up a tree before the end of the block, but a win is a win. On our rides to school in the morning I play music. On the downhill part, I stick my legs out and let out a shrill “Wheeeeeeee!!!”
At school I even took her out during P.E. to run with the kids. She and I rode up behind the kids while they were running and then I’d ding the bell. The kids would shriek and dissolve into peals of giggles. Then they would run next to us, their little legs churning to keep up.
I rode my new bike to dinner the other night and to breakfast the following morning. I think she’s starting to like it here.
I take good care of her. I lock her up everywhere we go. I pumped her tires until the pressure was just right. I parked her in the garage so she can make friends with The Rocket and my hubby’s bike, Suck It Trebek.
But my new bike is a shy gal. She still hasn’t told me her name.
The Rocket told me her name straight away, had it written right on her frame in fact. Frank the Tank told me his name the first time I picked him up. But my beautiful new bike is remaining quite tight-lipped when it comes to introductions.
So, dear reader, perhaps you can help me figure out her name. I’m convinced that once we’re on a first name basis we’ll enjoy our daily adventures that much more. So put on your thinking cap and meet me in the comments section with your brilliant suggestions.