Tour de Newark

This morning I was trying to think of some exercise I could do that would not impact my bum left elbow. I hurt my wing at the gym and figured that I can't use at least half my usual machine repertoire since they require arms to operate. I thought I could use the recumbent bike and then I remembered the time my brother told me he was thinking of buying a stairclimber. "But you have stairs," I said, smartass that I am. "I have a bike" I thought, and not just any bike.

A few years ago, the hub was trying to get me off my butt and he suggested I start riding my bike to work. My bike at this time was a partially decomposed heap of rust perched atop two vaguely wheel-like artifacts. It was parked next to the house but nobody would steal it. I wasn't going to be seen on it so I told the hub that if I had a really cool bike and a garage door opener, I would get more exercise. I needed a cool bike because, well...just because, and I needed the opener so I wouldn't have to open the door, back out the bike go back inside, lock the door and go back outside. That's how Old Rusty came about.

On my next birthday, the hub gave me the most awesome piece of cycle-age on two wheels. She's a Schwinn and she's an unreal shade of shimmery pink. If Mary Kay gave out bikes they would be this shade. She has shiny, chrome fenders. Little girls gaze in awe as I ride by and grown up girls call out "Great bike!" I love my pink bike and I call her my Sweet, Sweet Ride. The kids presented me with a garage door opener which the hub installed. My bluff was officially called. It took me a little while to integrate my Ride into mt life. OK, it took two years, but I'm riding the heck out of it now.

So, today I took her out for a tour around my neighborhood. Down to the lake for a spin on the perimeter road, which follows the lake but keeps to the streets. Past the lady with two Chihuahua mixes and the leashes wrapped around her ankles. Said "Hello!" to the nice Greek gentleman who has a beautiful garden and rides a giant red tricycle. Once I called 911 on him because I thought his rose spray was a gas leak. He grows figs, too.

I rode to the back of the lake then cut over to the lake path. Fat geese hate my Sweet Sweet Ride. People feed them white bread by the loaf which is like putting me behind a counter at See's and saying "Have at it!" The lake geese have fat that hangs down between their legs all the way to the ground. Its gross and unhealthy. In my capacity as Arterial Avenger I feel I must protect not just the human species so I might have got a few of them running. They're so fat they can't even fly!

Finished tormenting the geese, I proceeded around the lake. I got to say "On your left" to an older couple.They are slow runners, too, but not as slow as the geese. I sped past a runner duck which is a weird looking bird but fast. There are little hills by the lake and you have to speed down them to get up the next one. Feeling like Lancette Armstrong, Queen of the Lake, I cut back over to the perimeter road and rode home.

With my doubling up of paths, I had effectively increased my ride by half. Upon getting home, I sat in a sunbeam on my couch and conked out. After,of course, I had used my garage door opener to stow my Sweet, Sweet Ride.