On Bikes

That is, on one bike. The shortest bike the Peppertree Lodge had to offer. Unfortunately, my shortness is quite outside the average shortness of this land. (And here I was thinking that hobbits lived here!)

Scott and I decided we'd take advantage of the free bikes our hostel had to offer here in Paihia. He was perfectly fine on his bike.

I, on the other hand, was a failure from the start.

While I could reach the handles and pedals just fine, the handles were still uncomfortably low and my legs were just too short to straddle the bike while on the seat and get pedalling before falling over.

So I fell over. Or at least. started to fall over before I caught myself on the wall of the hostel multiple times with multiple 'eeps!'

Pushing off like I was rappelling off the side of a horizontal mountain, I finally got moving. More accurately, I finally got wobbling.

Really falling over would be saved for when there would be witnesses to my failure! Of course!

All I did was ride off the curb and suddenly, pushing the pedals resulted in clicking noise rather than any sort of engagement or forward motion of the bike. I freaked out momentarily, wobbled back toward the curb and face planted into the sidewalk directly in front of a couple of tourists. Fail! Bike fail!

Granted, it was more of a hand plant and frankly, my pride was bruised far more than my palms. Scott was sweet and pedaled around (on a bike too short for him, of course) until my fail bike worked again.

Unfortunately I now had to remount my fail bike without the aid of an outside support to brace myself on. And it was pathetic sight. And there were more tourists ambling about to witness this pathetic sight! Wobble wobble eep! Wobble wobble.

Stopping was another challenge altogether. Once, I fell over. The next time I semi-fell over by running most of the bike into the curb and hopping off as the bike itself fell over. Sorry fail bike.

Eventually, after much wobbling and whoaaaa-ing, we made it down to a spiffy outcrop of barnacle-y rocks where I could cover some ground on my feet. I trust my feet. They don't roll. They fit me perfectly. They stop when I tell them to and I don't fall over when they start moving. Usually .

Then Scott suggested paying a visit to the grocery store further down the road. I eyed the little hill and tiny pathway beside the cars rumbling around the narrow curve and shuddered inwardly to think of me attempting (1) uphill (2) downhill and (3) a curve! on my fail bike.

Er, I think I'm going to head back, I told him.

On Scott's suggestion, I manage to successfully get the bike moving by straddling the lower portion in front of the seat first rather than attempting to swing my body over and onto the seat. It worked. Score! Take that fail bike! I score a minor minor victory! Hah! Booyah!

I celebrate with vigor. It helps my ego.

Stopping smoothly was another story. Me being a chicken, I couldn't bring myself to stop in time. When I finally did stop, it was in the middle of the entrance to the car park and it was executed by an awful awkward hop skip hop drag drag drag. Still, a minor success. Nothing touched the ground but my feet and the wheels! No hand plant, no bike plant, whoo! Score! Take that! Minor victory! Whoo!

Finally, at the back of the hostel, I manage to stop and dismount the bike with minimal awkwardness by hopping and stopping in front of the seat rather than on it. Score! Whoo! Minor victory! Wheee!

I curse all average to tall people, say good riddance to the fail bike and take my minor victories to potter off to a shady bench where I sit and sketch a church for two hours. This is one seat I can't awkwardly fall off!

Uh, I hope.