Cycling, Hats and Grains

Hey there... I love Saturdays. Saturday is the day of the week where I can stay in bed, or just sit on my ass all day if I so choose. Today I ended up staying in bed until 11. Have you ever noticed that when you see or hear about something interesting going on outside and you want to join in but are still in bed, you are confronted with a horrible quandary? You can either ignore the potential disruption to your morning and drift peacefully into the quality of sleep that only a Saturday can provide, or you can embrace the world and all it's trials, tribulations and leftover Indian food.... Whatever.

So today I bought a bike. I have not had one since we lived in England, and buying a new one had never occurred to me. I now have less money to buy orange soda and gas with, but hopefully a bike and the potential exercise that goes along with it will offset the loss.

I think now would be a good time to talk to you about my first cycling experience. I was 6, or possibly 7 when I got my first bike. My mom took me to the food Co-op in Newton New Jersey to pick one out. As I remember, there were two bikes present that day, one an old racing bike and the other a small BMX. I chose the BMX, and spent the better part of 2 days on the road in front of our house trying to stay on the wretched thing for more than 5 seconds (no training wheels.. I was the first, and thus the experiment child.) The bike was quite old, and the handlebars were rusty. The brake had also seen better days, and was of the kind that had to be operated by pedaling backwards. By the third day, I was comfortable on the thing and riding up and down the road with my friends. On the fourth day, I started getting cocky. Near where we lived was a road. It was very steep, and the only other thing I can remember about it was my dad's friend skiing down it, and turning head over heels into a snow bank. I took the bike to the top of this road... Cohocton I think it was called.. It was a residential area, and so the road was not very busy. I gently eased the bike over the top, and 10 seconds later I found my face in the asphalt covered in blood.. My blood. Crying, my bike and I were returned to my house by a neighbor. (I don't blame the bike for crying, it got hurt pretty bad too.) The point is that I couldn't eat solid food for a while, and that my dad made me ride the bike the next day for hours so I wouldn't be scared of it.

Well, That is just about all I feel like writing.. C ya pal..