On Saturday morning, I decided to hit up the free yoga class offered at a local store in my city. My husband suggested that I ride my bike, and then told me he would escort me so that I didn’t y’know, die, in traffic. I’m not great at riding in traffic, whereas he bikes to work every day. So I let him come with me, and after much sniping we barely made it out the door on time.
I should explain, first, the sniping. I have two bikes. I rarely ride either of them, but in the city, I ride my hybrid. The wider tires are better on the cobblestones, and I like not having to deal with the cage pedals as I go from light to light. Usually when I go to ride either bike, the tires are flat. Also, it’s winter, and I don’t really have winter bike riding gear – so I had to rustle up some gloves and something to keep my ears warm. This all takes time, and we were already running late because I was working on a baby quilt for a friend. So we got ourselves out the door and on the road finally, and managed to get to yoga, but then couldn’t find the actual store since they don’t put their name on the storefront, just their brand symbol. So there was quite a bit of sniping back and forth as we got lost and I was irritated that I was riding my bike because my husband made me feel guilty about driving in the first place. (Yes, he was right, and yes, it was faster to bike than drive. Plus I didn’t have to pay for parking.)
I went to yoga class and it was fantastic. I was expecting a beginner-type class, since it was a free class, but the teacher was intense and the whole room was filled with relatively hardcore yoga-goers (many of whom still refused to try Crow, which was a relief to me.) I really enjoyed myself and plan to take my unemployed self back there every Saturday.
After, I joined my husband at the coffee shop where he waited for me, and eventually we left on our bikes. I am generally annoyed when I have to ride my bike on the cobblestones in our city and it was also wet out from a few days of rain and snow. I started to pedal and then realized I was too far out in the road, and as I tried to get over to the right, I hit the track for the old cable cars wrong and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. Which again, was wet cobblestones. Which hurt, a lot.
Whenever I hurt myself in this manner, things are difficult with my husband and me. He doesn’t tend to fall down a lot, and never understands why I can’t immediately get up, tell him I’m fine or exactly what hurts, and then get back on my bike. Our conversation went like this:
Him: Are you okay?
Him: Well, get out of the road and then tell me what’s wrong.
I can’t localize the pain that quickly, and it annoys him. When I trip and fall, I like to assess what is wrong and what hurts slowly, while carefully picking myself up. He also thinks I’m overdramatic about being in pain, even though the times where he has thought I’ve acted like a wuss were things like: a wasp stung me twice in a 2 second period and when I broke my thumb playing dodgeball. But he’s slowly coming around to the fact that I do not exaggerate my injuries, and as soon as he realized how covered in mud I was, he realized how badly I hit the ground. Fortunately, the total strangers around us were very helpful and got my bike out of the street and made sure I was okay. Eventually I managed to get on my bike and ride home (very slowly, with minimal breaking because my hand was killing me).
Once we got home, my husband took very good care of me, setting me up on the couch with icepacks and making sure I was feeling alright. Once I took some ibuprofen, I felt a lot better, but my hip, knee, and hand still hurt and my back is also voicing it’s discomfort. My husband took this opportunity to teach me a few things about how to ride my bike in slippery conditions, and with the snow. So here are a few tips:
1. Ride straight over the snow – do not try to steer on the snow.
2. When crossing a rail track, ride straight, rather than trying to turn on it.
3. Wear gloves because otherwise your hands will get shredded when you fall. This is particularly important for employed people, because hamburger hands are unprofessional.