kyrie eleison
I break into a sweat just looking at it. My dark green 1996 Trek Singletrack mountain bike. It's that good.
I bought this bike before we had kids, from Austin's Bicycle Sports Shop. I rented one like it first; Steve and I had many rides around Town Lake and the greenbelt before I finally committed to this bike.
One day, Steve took me on a ride on the green belt that was not for amateurs. As other mountain bikers came barreling down towards me, I jumped ship (bike) and landed in a pile of rocks and cactus. I worked at K-EYE at the time and came in sporting giant scabs on my shins, wearing them like badges of honor. My friend Mike who worked in Traffic and was an avid mountain biker said to me, "Why would he take you there?" when I told him where we had gone.
Lord have mercy.
I didn't ride my bike for several years when our boys were little. I switched to pushing jogging strollers around Town Lake and my neighborhood. Then one year, Steve got my bike tuned up for an anniversary present. I picked it up from the shop and the guy who brought it out said, "This is a great bike. They don't make them quite like this anymore." I knew, oh I knew. "Do you need help loading it up?" he asked. "Oh, no, I'm good," I told him, as if I rode it every day. He went back inside and I proceeded to take my bike apart. Except that I couldn't remember how to take the wheel off. I stood in front of the store's glassfront working hard to get the wheel off, sure everyone inside was watching, fascinated.
Lord have mercy.
When we moved to Kyle, I dusted off my Trek once more to ride it around our neighborhood's hike and bike trail. My son B. has a Trek Jet (which he has since outgrown but it's so beautiful it sits in our garage anyway); and we would ride the length of trail. My boys would come shooting down the hill that runs alongside the trail. I would vicariously taste their freedom, but my bike and me were just fine, standing down the hill waiting for the rides to end.
Two years ago in my worst moments of depression, I would force myself out of bed in the morning for the second time, after taking the kids to school and coming back to climb into bed. I would force myself out the door to walk 45 minutes a day. I did this if it poured rain or blew cold winds. I was heartbroken and angry inside, but I knew I would die if I stopped moving, stopped trying.
Lord have mercy.
One morning, I literally bounced off the bed and into my cycling shorts, holey and beloved. In my mind's eye I saw my bike sitting in the garage. I got on that bike and rode until I couldn't catch my breath. I had to walk it halfway home. I love that bike. Now my husband rides it more than I do but it still beckons to me from the garage and I'm thinking we will soon be reunited. The Christmas cookies I binged on don't help the reunion. But it's going to happen. Womano y bike.
The days are happier now, and all I can say about that is the Lord has mercy. We are not consumed.
Lord have mercy. Kyrie Eleison.
I bought this bike before we had kids, from Austin's Bicycle Sports Shop. I rented one like it first; Steve and I had many rides around Town Lake and the greenbelt before I finally committed to this bike.
One day, Steve took me on a ride on the green belt that was not for amateurs. As other mountain bikers came barreling down towards me, I jumped ship (bike) and landed in a pile of rocks and cactus. I worked at K-EYE at the time and came in sporting giant scabs on my shins, wearing them like badges of honor. My friend Mike who worked in Traffic and was an avid mountain biker said to me, "Why would he take you there?" when I told him where we had gone.
Lord have mercy.
I didn't ride my bike for several years when our boys were little. I switched to pushing jogging strollers around Town Lake and my neighborhood. Then one year, Steve got my bike tuned up for an anniversary present. I picked it up from the shop and the guy who brought it out said, "This is a great bike. They don't make them quite like this anymore." I knew, oh I knew. "Do you need help loading it up?" he asked. "Oh, no, I'm good," I told him, as if I rode it every day. He went back inside and I proceeded to take my bike apart. Except that I couldn't remember how to take the wheel off. I stood in front of the store's glassfront working hard to get the wheel off, sure everyone inside was watching, fascinated.
Lord have mercy.
When we moved to Kyle, I dusted off my Trek once more to ride it around our neighborhood's hike and bike trail. My son B. has a Trek Jet (which he has since outgrown but it's so beautiful it sits in our garage anyway); and we would ride the length of trail. My boys would come shooting down the hill that runs alongside the trail. I would vicariously taste their freedom, but my bike and me were just fine, standing down the hill waiting for the rides to end.
Two years ago in my worst moments of depression, I would force myself out of bed in the morning for the second time, after taking the kids to school and coming back to climb into bed. I would force myself out the door to walk 45 minutes a day. I did this if it poured rain or blew cold winds. I was heartbroken and angry inside, but I knew I would die if I stopped moving, stopped trying.
Lord have mercy.
One morning, I literally bounced off the bed and into my cycling shorts, holey and beloved. In my mind's eye I saw my bike sitting in the garage. I got on that bike and rode until I couldn't catch my breath. I had to walk it halfway home. I love that bike. Now my husband rides it more than I do but it still beckons to me from the garage and I'm thinking we will soon be reunited. The Christmas cookies I binged on don't help the reunion. But it's going to happen. Womano y bike.
The days are happier now, and all I can say about that is the Lord has mercy. We are not consumed.
Lord have mercy. Kyrie Eleison.