We’re downsizing. We’ve sold one of our three cars, we’re selling another next month, and moving from our oversized six-bedroom house in the suburbs to a much more walkable, bike-able area in a new city (in another country… but that’s not the point).
The point is: I haven’t ridden a bike since 7th grade.
I was literally twelve the last time I rode a bike. It was purple, I leaned it against a tree in the yard, it got buried in snow, life happened, and the next time I saw it, the tree was eating it. I switched to roller blading and walking, and then to city buses, and then to driving because I lived in areas with no public transportation so… I needed a bike.
My delightful spouse took me shopping, well aware I have not ridden a bike in the entirety of our relationship. And we took the youngest children because they also do not have bikes. My almost 13yo has never ridden one ever. The kid can mountain climb, spelunk, and swim but bikes and any form of organized sport are right out.
So the kids were running amok, having the time of their life looking at mountain bikes, trick bikes, and the kind of bikes suitable for pre-teens who have lots of energy and are moving to a place where they will have lots of freedom. And while they were off looking for the fastest moving bikes at our price point I found this:
A periwinkle blue, retro bike worthy of Malibu Barbie. It has no hand brakes. It has no gear changer. It has a basket, a cup holder, and a rack for tying parcels down. The tires are CREAM.
It’s utterly ridiculous.
So, naturally, the very first thing I think is: THIS IS THE ONE. I MUST HAVE IT.
My spouse, who likes to wake up at 4:30am to go for a brisk five mile run at 5:30 in the morning and then hit the weights looks at me, a person who physically cannot run because of structural damage to my leg and who weighs more than is fashionable in at least three countries, and just laughs.
It’s a perfect match.
Listen!
I am out of shape. I haven’t been going to the gym regularly since I left my last physical therapist in 2019. I can walk a mile or two, but there’s a 50/50 chance that my hip will dislocate while I do so and I won’t be able to walk for a week. There’s no way to be coy about this… I’m marvelous. I’m huge. I have curves that would be worshipped by Neolithic cultures. I am the matriarch of a large, boisterous, and, above all else, LOUD family. I have the hips of someone who has given birth many, many times.
There is no way that putting me on a sleek racing bike won’t look preposterous.
I left Sleek behind ten years ago. I’m not an assassin’s stiletto, I’m a war hammer wielded by a giant. You are going to see me coming.
Some of those racing bikes look like I could snap them in half. And, for the price listed, I probably could snap some of them in half. I don’t run but I still lift weights on occasion, and I can pick up all my children. Including the ones that are taller than me. I put the MAMA in Mama Bear, right?
My body type is not going to change because I have a bike. All that will happen on those cute mountain bikes is that it will look like I stole the bike of someone who wants to talk to you about Crossfit.
So I got the periwinkle blue, Malibu Barbie bike with the basket.
It’s aggressively girly.
It’s the kind of bike that slams you against the wall and offers to paint your nails, talk about your feelings, and enthusiastically consent to something mildly kinky.
It’s meant for long, leisurely rides along the riverbanks with stops to take photos of flowers and, possibly, write poetry.
Which… is exactly what I want. Minus the poetry. I’m terrible with poetry. I’ll probably be working on another book. BUT! Topic of writing aside, this is a perfect bike for me because I’m moving to an apartment near a river with flowers and I am overjoyed at the thought of riding it along the bike path, taking pictures of flowers, and looking like I don’t care what anyone thinks about me and my ridiculous bike because I don’t!
P.S. Her name is Malibu and I’m ordering her shark stickers.