The freak out occurred when I was looking around my house for things I could sell. I was thinking about how I probably didn't need my juicer, could return the bike trailer, and sell my mountain bike (yes, all are in the kitchen). Something about seriously contemplating selling the mountain bike sent me to very-upset-hiccuping-so-much-you-can't-breathe land.
The mountain bike is new. I've never owned a new bike, except for the pink Barbie bike I got when I was like 5 from my grandparents, and I bet it was not nearly as nice to ride as this bike is. It has disc brakes that work real good, a front shock, it switches gears smoothly, and is a totally sweet ride. It's like...a fancy car or something, but with a better view.
What made me sad was everything the mountain
bike represented. I got it so my best friend and I could go mountain biking together. He'd been wanting someone to go riding with for years. I was recently rich with financial aide and it was a chance for me to do something new and to stop being afraid of riding up big hills.
Although still learning, the times we'd been out mountain biking were pure fun and some of the best times I've ever had in my life.
Once, we tried to find a way for him to bike through Forest Park to work. We started at a trail near his work and biked up it towards Leif Erikson Drive in Forest Park. The trail was over grown and unused, with blackberry bushes blocking the path and branches in the way. We stopped and ate black berries. He was ahead and cut vines out of the path with his pocket knife. There were some very steep hills. It was absolutely beautiful.
After a while the trail got very steep and we had to carry our bikes. I think we'd both realized riding this everyday to work wasn't really an option. We got to a point where the trail either sort of stopped or split into two. Suddenly some guy appeared and told us we couldn't continue in the direction we wanted to. He said the trail ended, but I think it ended because he had a fort built the way we wanted to go. It was so steep that I don't think we could have turned around and walked down with our bikes, so we headed in the other direction.
Besides, we were determined to find a way up. Going back down the way we came was not an option. This determination is what I love and miss about our friendship.
We ended up forging our own path through the woods with our bikes on our shoulders. We had no water or food because we didn't think we'd be gone very long. We went straight up the hill for about a mile or so until we got the Leif Erickson Drive in Forest Park. This was no easy stuff. We crawled up one handed at times using ferns to steady ourselves because it was so steep. When we got to the road we pulled ourselves over and up on to it. We were bleeding, sweaty, late for a potluck, but so hardcore. This is what I mean when I say pure fun.
If I sold the bike I wouldn't even get enough to cover one month of rent. This is not because the bike is cheap, it's because my rent is high (although it does include utilities, which I do appreciate.) Considering the opportunities I'd be losing, I think it would only depress me more to know I sold something that was a vehicle of so much exhilaration and enjoyment for a little bit of rent money.
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