Biking through the Years: Fitness, Fun and Follies

Early riding years...pre-bicycle era, but started the yearning for the open road on wheels :)



 As running has always been a pivotal part of my life, it is fair to say that the bicycle has played a similar role as my exercise and transportation standby over the years.  I have been reminded of this recently as I've been enjoying a newly purchased road bike in Denver.  In order to prepare myself for my weekend get aways in the mountains (and keeping up with my very energetic bike enthusiast boyfriend, Garrett), I have been spending a fair amount of time logging in miles on the Omaha trail system.  As opposed to my running chats with friends, my bike rides are solo and provide for a lot of time to think and reflect.  Thus the thoughts that have led to this blog posting.

I had kind of been on a biking hiatus for a few years.  As with my baby runner, my child bike seat (picture Rerun from Peanuts) was very popular starting with Zach as a toddler and retired with a way-too-old Grant.  Are you following this common theme with Grant?  When Grant's knees were about hitting his chin, we decided we had better remove the seat and Grant from the back of my bike before his weight caused a biking catastrophe.  Unfortunately my bike became quite dusty in the years that followed.  But that all changed last year when my brother, Matt, inspired me to buy a new bike.  I will refer to this new hybrid bike housed in Omaha as Bike #1.  Although Bike #1 is great exercise and provides an enjoyable get away into the outdoors, it does not hold a candle to my sweet road bike in Denver (Bike #2) that has enjoyed maiden voyages across the Denver foothills and mountainous terrains.

Well, my early biking days in Remsen certainly did not include the beauty of the Rockies nor the speed and agility of my carbon-made Bike #2.  My first bike was bright orange with a super cool banana seat and a white basket with plastic white daisies attached.  Also note that there was no "boy bar" on my new wheels as my parents were sure to purchase me the girl model.  I was very pleased with this selection and LOVED my bike.  As a child in the 70's living in small town Iowa, a bike was a necessity.  My mom didn't drive me to practices or the pool, nor did she coordinate my car pools.  If I needed to get somewhere, I would need to walk, run or ride my bike.  My legs were the fuel for my transportation.  It never crossed my mind to ask my mom for a ride anywhere.  My daily adventures needed to be equally matched with my resourcefulness in finding a means to get there. Let me just say that this is quite different from the life my boys are accustomed to in Omaha.

Growing up, my brothers had super cool bikes as well, but in the boy models.  We would typically run wild around town on these contraptions with no regard for traffic or speed.  Most times we did not even know our ultimate destination. Our life was just one big adventure.  Many summer memories included riding our bikes to the town pool.  For reasons I can not remember, Matt begrudgingly gave me a ride home from the pool on the back of his bike one summer day.  My suspicion is that I walked to the pool with friends, stayed at the pool too long, and then needed a ride to make it home in time for dinner (before the church clock rang 6:00...a rule my mom strictly enforced).  Matt was not pleased about giving his sister a ride home on the back of his bike.  I was five years old and Matt, a much cooler seven.  He agreed to give me a ride, but only if I didn't touch him.  Thank goodness for a banana seat.  But this was still not an easy feat to accomplish.  I agreed, as I knew the only alternatives were to walk and risk being late or suffer a punch to the arm if I did touch him.

We made it down the first big hill without incident.  Matt then made a turn into the back alley behind our house for the final stretch.  In retrospect, I should have hopped off and ran that last block home.  But instead, I held on to the back of the seat for dear life while Matt (I can never prove this, mind you) proceeded like a "bat out of Hxxx" down that alley trying to jostle his sister off of his throne.  I was equally as determined to stay on the seat.  The unfortunate circumstance that did not play out in either of our favor was that the alley had just been replenished with fresh gravel.  It is common knowledge in a small town that this is a bike riding nightmare.  As we reached the end of the alley, Matt lost control of his bike.  The bike flew sideways beside the driveway with the front wheel spinning out of control.  My foot was caught in the spokes and my knee rubbed raw from the tire.  Matt got up without a scratch.  Me, on the other hand, spent the next week with nightly soakings of my entire leg from knee down in a 5 gallon bucket of Epsom salt (my mom's remedy to all open wounds).  I have scars to this day as proof that I survived the torture of being the little sister.



Although I do like to blame my brothers for most of my pain and injury as a child, I do need to own the times that I created my own misfortunes. A rather embarrassing mishap nearly totaled my orange bike.  And this was caused by my own carelessness.  The ironic part was that it happened on the same hill that Matt had taken home from the pool on the day of our famous wipe out.  Only this time I was solo on my bike and riding up the hill to the pool.  Keep in mind that this was a steep hill.  I was 8 years old and more concerned about the flowers on the side of the road (which were in all actuality probably dandelions) and what was going on in the front yards of the homes lining the street, then the road ahead of me.  As I gazed around at everything but the road, I ran my bike directly into the back of a parked truck.  Yes, it was up a hill and yes, the truck was parked.  I rammed my bike so hard that I couldn't pull it out.  It was stuck under the back bumper of the truck.  I had to solicit the help of one of my brothers (can't remember which one) who was laughing so hard he could hardly pull it out.  The front fender was in ruins and it was very difficult for me to convince my parents that my story of the collision was true.

My new ten speed.  Brenda Ruhland took this picture in her back yard (and cut off my head).  Check out the terry cloth shorts and cropped top my mom made for me.  I really thought I was stylin'!



At about age eleven I graduated to a super cool 10 speed bike.  Mine was lime green.  I loved it and rode it everywhere.  My adventures also expanded beyond the pool, park, and my grandparent's house in town.  To give you some background on the novelty of my new adventures, let me explain the perks I enjoyed as a child.  When I tell people  that I grew up in a small town, the next question typically is whether I lived on a farm or in town.  My answer is "both".  Yes, my childhood home was in town which provided me accessibility to an endless playground (which basically was the entire town), but my Grandma and Grandpa Doc lived on a farm with two of my uncles and their families.  Many summer days were spent by my brothers and I on this farm.  Although farm work was involved (more so by my brothers than by me), we enjoyed a grove full of trees, animals that ran wild, a hammock, huge lawn, and the many, many adventures that come with the rolling hills and open air.  Yes, I was a lucky girl.

My grandparents lived about five miles outside of town.  Although the route could be shortened a bit by traveling the first two miles via Highway 3,  I was encouraged by my parents and grandparents to ride the safe route of all gravel roads.  So without the safety benefits of a helmet, sun screen or a water bottle, I would frequent this trek when I felt like shaking up my summer with a day on the farm.  My casual ride was not without incident as the farm neighboring my grandparents had a mean dog that would nip at my toes and chase me down the gravel road until I was off of his territory.  Grandpa Doc would give me all kinds of tricks to fend off this dog, but none would work as the dog continued to chase and snap at me.  After reading my frightened face following another encounter with the dog, my grandpa had had enough.  When it was time for me to ride back home, he gave me a small squirt bottle which was filled with an ammonia and water mixture.  His instruction was for me to spray the dog in the eyes with this concoction the minute he came after me.  I followed Grandpa's instruction to a tee and yes, it worked like a charm.  The dog yelped and cowered away. I never again was chased by this dog.  He simply sat in his yard and watched me go by.  He did seem to make eye contact, which made me very happy as I did not want to be the one responsible for blinding the dog; no matter how mean he was to me. 

My story about my brother, Matt, wiping out with me as his hands-free passenger was unfortunately a mere foreshadowing to a similar escapade in our teens.  This time the bike involved was a dirt bike.  Once my brothers were in high school, they quickly traded in their pedal bikes for teenage testosterone filled toys.  Mark was clearly the winner in this department with a snow mobile, Camero, and a moped.  Matt and Mark also shared a dirt bike.  One summer day, Matt was getting ready to hop on the dirt bike for a ride to the farm.  At the last minute it was determined by Mom that I needed to go too. We were in the middle of "bean walking" season and Grandpa needed us.  Mom instructed Matt to give me a ride.  "Not a chance!" was his answer.  He was now a cool high school junior and me; a lowly freshman sister.  After my mom's insistence, He finally agreed, but growled at me not to touch him.  You know where this is going.  So I held on for dear life to the back of the seat as we made our way on the gravel roads to the farm.  As he turned a corner, going faster than he needed to, I lost my balance.  Although I didn't fall off, my calf sizzled on the hot exposed muffler.  As with my prior bike scars, the evidence of this sisterly injustice is still apparent by the mark forever embedded on the back of my leg.   

Grant and I take a spin around Zorinsky (notice poor shoe choice)

Another hiatus from biking occurred during my college years.  It wasn't until after Zach was born that I bought a bike in Omaha.  Zach's first birthday gift was a baby bike seat (Rerun style).  I bought a Trek mountain bike to serve as the guide for our journeys.  Zach's first spin in his new seat started with us accidentally snapping the bottom of his chin in the helmet buckle.  Needless to say, he cried for most of our first ride around the neighborhood.  But it got better after that ride and Zach and I enjoyed many long excursions together over the next few years.  My age and inexperience (nice way of saying poor judgment) did result in some less than safe rides on busy roads.  As an older and more "seasoned" mother by the time I carried Grant in the seat, I wouldn't have dreamt of taking him on the same routes that I lugged Zach.  But we survived and Zach doesn't seem to have sustained long term effects of the drama. Poor Ben rarely got the opportunity for bike rides as this exercise was not conducive for two toddlers who were three years apart in age.  When Grant was born four years later, the older boys were busy with their own activities.  Grant and I spent the most time as a duo on the bike.  It was a weekend ritual for us to take a ride around Lake Zorinsky. He loved it.

Once we graduated from the child bike seat, we upgraded to a child pull carrier that hooked on the back of Scott's bike.  Grant entertained himself in this traveling mini-tent with toys, snacks and a sippy cup.  Ben and Zach would ride their own bikes.  One family ride around Lake Zorinsky included the typical brotherly jostling for lead rider.  Although both Scott and I kept reminding the boys to stay to the right and not pass each other, their competitive spirit led them to choose otherwise.  The result was Zach furiously trying to pass Ben around a turn.  He clipped Ben's wheel which resulted in Ben flying on to the trail and Zach running over him (yes, on his bike); riding at his high speed directly across Ben's chest.  Two ladies walking the trail saw the whole episode and were screaming in panic for the casualty lying still on the trail.  Once Ben heard the screams, he jumped to his feet exclaiming, "I'm okay!"  He then proceeded to jump on his bike and with Zach they continued our trail ride following our instruction like perfect gentlemen.

Although my most recent bike mishap did involve my brother, in this case it was my fault alone.  Matt had helped me research my new bike purchase and we proceeded to the bike store for some "test drives".  I was measured and fitted for the perfect bike for me. We then narrowed our selection to three bikes.  Matt and I took the first bike out for a spin in the adjoining neighborhood without incident.  "Not bad", I thought of this model. The next test drive was a bit more of an adventure.  I do need to preface this mishap with the fact that I was wearing flip flops.  I was later schooled by Garrett that this was a lapse in judgment.  So noted.  Matt and I took the second bike out for a spin.  I decided to push it a bit and picked up speed while going down a hill.  A car came around a corner at the bottom of the hill and startled me.  I quickly hit the brakes.  Now I must own my second crucial mistake; never hit the left brake alone to stop.  This brake stops the front wheel.  You can picture the result of this miscalculation; I somersaulted over the top of the hand bars.  But it doesn't stop there.  I rolled on the pavement and then slid on my side to a stop with the bike on top of me.  Matt and the driver of the car were hysterical and there were cries of "Are you okay?" and "Oh my God".  Following the lead of Ben in his mishap years prior, I jumped to my feet proclaiming, "I'm okay!"  Once Matt was convinced that he didn't need to call an ambulance, he and I proceeded back to the bike shop.  We were laughing so hard that we were crying and could barely pedal.  Although I had road rash all over my leg and side, and probably only Matt and I will ever fully understand the feeling; it was poetic bliss to experience a grown up bike mishap with my brother.  The story ended with my buying this Bike as I felt we sufficiently bonded (and I felt a bit guilty giving the store back a scraped up bike).

Matt and I after my fateful fall

So my hybrid Trek Bike #1 calls Omaha home and joined my garage last May. This May, Bike #2 (a carbon road bike...Specialized Ruby) joined Garrett's garage in Denver.  So you ask, why a bike in Denver?  Well, as I am there visiting my man from Denver quite frequently, one can surmise that my theory is "when you go to Rome you do what the Romans do".  So when I go to Colorado, I do what the Coloradans do...I ski, hike and bike (depending on the season).  Watching people bike in Denver and not having a bike felt a bit like watching people ski on the mountains and not having skis.  So I bought a bike and all of the cool gear.  I was schooled a bit on the definition of cool gear.  Garrett and I spent no less than six hours on a Saturday researching, shopping and test driving road bikes for me.  Garrett's Type A personality and engineering education are very conducive to his skill of making very thoughtful and well researched purchases.  I learned more about the functionality and technical aspects of a bicycle then I ever dreamt existed.  But when it came to the accessory components; I was not allowed to add lights, baskets or daisies.  It was quickly pointed out to me that these would be very uncool and would highlight the fact that I truly was a flatlander from Nebraska <gasp>.

The accessory that was new to me was the clipped shoes I now use on Bike #2.  Yes, this is a far cry from my flip flops.  Although warned by Garrett, I learned quickly that having your feet clipped on to your pedals can result in some near crashes when you forget this little detail.  On our first long ride, I came to a screaching stop on a busy highway.  I forgot about the clips and almost bit it.  Somehow I squeaked by this potential tragedy and unlocked a shoe in the nick of time.  I can't say that I wasn't warned!  So as I "follow Garrett's wheel" on the winding roads of the Colorado Rockies, I will keep you posted on my adventures.  And hopefully none of my tales involve mishaps...wish me luck!



Me and Jake Brucker with sweet Bike #2