Awkward point number 4,578,967.5
How does one live in Belgium without knowing the slightest thing about bicycles? Answer: One does not. Not really. Though I’ve yet to admit this openly to any local (the enormity of disdain this would bring … I shudder to think), I’ve come too close for comfort on several occasions to being detected. I CAN’T RIDE A BIKE. I CAN’T FIX A BIKE. And this morning I COULDN’T EVEN BLOW UP THE TIRES OF MY KID’S BIKE AND SHE MISSED HER SCHOOL OUTING. Ok, it’s not that I can’t ride a bike and in times past I had no problem putting air in the tires of my 1982 purple sparkle Huffy. I don’t, however, feel comfortable on a bike in a city setting. It’s like driving a car and one needs to know the rules and understand the culture of the street. I don’t. The air in the tire thing this morning I put down to nothing more than a bit of residual bad karma …
How many invites will I miss out on? How many times will I not go somewhere? How many sunny bike days will I remain on foot? I walk everywhere. I will walk over an hour to get somewhere rather than attempting a bike or God forbid … awkward point number 4,578,968 … public transportation in a foreign language!!!
In English I’m a relatively normal person who just so happens to not ride a bike. Really, I am.
I want to ride a bike. I need to ride a bike. There’s a beautiful river path right in front of my doorstep for crying out loud. Sigh.