Bridges are my mailbox.

There was good weather this weekend -- our third "warm snap" of the winter -- and, since I was in town for this one, I had another bike lesson with G.

She borrowed her niece's bike for me, and G, her daughter, and I rode the three mile trail from La Llorona Park to Mesilla and back. (Please note that the picture in the link was taken in the summer, when the river is full of irrigation water. On Saturday, I was savoring the irony of the "No Swimming" sign posted alongside what looked like mud flats.)

The distance wasn't a problem; I didn't get tired at all. (Hey! I have more stamina than an eight year old!) However, the bike seat, which was a little wider than a sewing needle, bore up into my bones. I figured that, having a well padded seat myself, I needn't worry. However, that seat managed to miss all of my padded areas and hit the very bottom of my pelvic bones (or the tops of my thigh bones; I never took anatomy). Every time I sit down, I feel as if I am bruised. When I got back into my car, I exclaimed, "Oh! That's good!" (I was kind of loud, but I don't think the people in the next car heard me.) I don't know anyone I'd be comfortable asking to take a look and tell me if I am indeed bruised. For that matter, I don't think anyone I know has the slightest interest in looking "where the sun don't shine" on me.

Fear not, loyal readers. Since this is a wheeled conveyance story by the Cap'n, you know it didn't pass without incident (nor injury).

The path meanders alongside the Rio Grande and has four bridges over irrigation canals, only one of which had water. (For the sake of my story, I count this as eight bridges: four each direction.) I had problems with just two of the eight. The good news is that I kind of scraped along the railing of one but managed to keep going. The better news is that I didn't actually hit the other one; I fell before reaching the bridge. (I suppose the great news is that I didn't fall into the canal, so none of you can pun that I'm "all wet".) My right forearm, which was covered by a sweatshirt sleeve, received a small scrape, and the left knee of my jeans now has a small tear. (This is why I wore my work jeans, which already had a small tear in the right knee, so at least they match now.)

This adventure confirmed that my bike riding problems are psychological. I think G astutely observed this before I did. She made me go back and renegotiate one of the bridges, coaching me how to approach it. She wouldn't let me get away with anything. (I suppose that's a hazard of asking someone's mother for help.) She then followed up with some steering advice. Balancing was easy. Pedaling was easy. Balancing and pedaling and steering was hard. Not chickening out and walking my bike over the bridge was hard. (Not remembering to use the handlebar controls to apply the brakes seems to be a theme with me.)

Do any of you remember the episode of Frasier where he and Niles learn how to ride bikes? (For the record, they were about ten years older than I am, so I'm not hopeless.) In that episode, Frasier's ego volunteers him for a cycling fundraiser, even though he can't ride a bike. Throughout the episode, the running gag (or riding gag, as it were), from his first lesson to ending credits, is Frasier riding his bike into a mailbox, as if they were magnetically attracted. I figure that these bridges are my mailbox.

I did, however, managed to avoid all the walkers, joggers, in-line skaters, dog walkers, and dogs (and their leashes). I just kept hoping that they'd stay on their side of the path and that I could manage to stay on mine. Then again, they probably assumed I knew what I was doing, just as I assumed the same about them. I wonder if there's a moral in there somewhere? Maybe it's like defensive driving; assume the others know what they're doing, but be prepared if they don't.

Maybe I can get a large "student biker" sign to put on my helmet the next time I go out, like those cars plastered with "student driver" magnets and stickers.