One Ride, Two Ways

Someone else's Red Bilenky-- just like Racer

Saturday afternoon Anna -- who thus far has passively but adamantly refused to consider a driver's license -- needed to be picked up from her rehearsal at the Young Shakespeare Theater, about 4 and a half miles from home.  It was a nice day and I had time, so I decided to pick her up on Racer, the tandem.  A simple idea except that I had to somehow get the tandem there.  Loading it, driving it, and unloading it was a complicated and quickly-discarded option.  Besides the hassle of loading, the problem of shuffling cars around would remain. The only cchoice was for me to solo from home and let her ride back with me.

Certainly theoretically possible.  While Racer is heavy -- 44 pounds -- he's also very nicely geared and I've heard stories of people using these bikes to haul groceries, etc.  Still, there are a couple "nice" hills before one arrives at the Bike Trail, and the simple uneasiness about the unknown. Once on the way, it would be hard to change one's mind.  On the other hand, it wasn't like a trip in Darkest Africa, and I had time. And a one-manned Racer would have to be easier to ride than was the huge, black, heavy, single-speed Chinese-made machine that I pedaled around Kabul, Afghanistan nearly 40 years ago -- though I didn't try any hills there -- and of course I was nearly 40 years younger.  But as I recall I was pretty nimble, especially going through those traffic circles wherein the cars and painted trucks and motor scooters zoomed around with horns blaring and nary a glance at other cars, much less a bicycle.  If I could survive that . . . .

Round and round we went in Kabul

So off I went.  And it went surprisingly well.  Hills were easily manageable though I didn't break or even threaten any speed records.  I got a few looks as I went down the Southwest Trail, but no one called out to "advise" me that I was missing a passenger.  Which disappointed me, as I was primed to be irritated by the remark.  Still, it was kind of spooky seeing the empty seat and pedals in front, especially when the pedals moved once in awhile, ghost-like.

On the ride home I was surprised by the different feel of the bike with a passenger -- for the first time I knew that the stoker makes a real difference.  Anna describes herself as a front-seat driver, and it's true that she sometimes tells me that I'm in the wrong gear -- and she's usually right about it. 

I suspected it, of course, from my brief rides with Daniel -- he never pedals so it's like pushing 100 pounds around; his bad hip and shorter leg, of course, make it harder for him, but in any event he's not really one for physical exertion.  It had been my plan to have Dan and I head off for adventures, with Anna riding wing on her own bike.  But other than an initial flash of excitement -- "Hey, I'm riding a bike!" on that first trip, he's approached the same way he's approaching next week's Easter Seals Respite Camp -- with quiet resignation and looking forward to being done.

Not  necessarily Daniel's favorite hang-out