Seeing yourself on the road
One of the many great things about throwing the leg over the top tube and going for a pedal on the South Shore on a sunny Sunday afternoon is that you can see or imagine yourself at each stage of life as you let the mind wander.
On Atlantic Avenue in Cohasset, you find yourself as a little puddlin' sitting on the seat behind your first and best friend, your mother. As she pedals along, you plead: "Faster." She obliges as best she can, doing the work of two with nary a complaint.
Down by the Mount Blue Spring in Wompatuck State Park in Hingham, you stop for a drink of cool, fresh, free water, and you see yourself as a youngster just off the training wheels.
"Dad, help me on my bike," you plead. Dad holds the bike and you start pedaling, shakily at first, steadily after the first spin of the wheels. You're young enough to realize you have found some independence, but not yet strong enough to fully exploit it.
Then, at age 13, something magical happens. You join a pack of other like-minded individuals and pedal off to secret swimming destinations that are difficult to reach by car. Maybe you ride over to A Street in Hull and jump off the pier. Or you might leap off one of the beautiful bridges in Cohasset when the tide is high.
From Quincy to Plymouth, red-faced adults in steaming hot cars are lined up, hoping they have the proper beach sticker, or can find the free spot, or squeeze into the lot that charges $10 a day. You have no worries. There are plenty of places to park your bike, all conveniently situated near your adventure.
Between the ages of 16 and 20, your bike gathers dust. You're so excited to be driving a car, any heap that will start, you neglect your bike. All of your friends pack into the first car that's available, and you drive around doing all the things you used to do on your bike. And a few things you never even knew existed when you first started riding your bike.
Then one day, you wake up and you're a parent. You blow the dust off the old friend, perhaps a Schwinn or a Univega, fill the tires with air, and now you're doing the pedaling as a little puddlin' all your own sits behind you, pleading for you to go faster. It's not as much fun as sitting in the back, yelling out orders like an admiral, but it's the least you can do.
By the time you reach 55, the kids are out of the house, and you may be riding for other people by raising money for a cause, such as the Pan-Massachusetts Challenge, the ride that stretches across the Commonwealth and raises millions of dollars for the Jimmy Fund. Training for the ride keeps you off the sofa and somehow keeps you young. Or at least you tell yourself that.
As the sun begins to set on a perfect Sunday, finally, you see yourself up the road as an octogenarian. The fast bike from the Pan-Mass. years has been put away for good, and the machine of choice is the classic Raleigh 3-speed. The pedals are turning over slowly, and there's a discernible wobble to the progress down the road. The tick-tick, tick-tick of the Sturmey-Archer 3-speed hub reminds you your time on this earth isn't forever.
After gliding into the driveway and dismounting, you could be any age and think: Wasn't this a great day for a ride?
Joe Berkeley lives in Hull and often rides his bicycle to work in Boston. He named his Labrador retriever after the just-retired seven-time Tour de France winner, Lance Armstrong.
On Atlantic Avenue in Cohasset, you find yourself as a little puddlin' sitting on the seat behind your first and best friend, your mother. As she pedals along, you plead: "Faster." She obliges as best she can, doing the work of two with nary a complaint.
Down by the Mount Blue Spring in Wompatuck State Park in Hingham, you stop for a drink of cool, fresh, free water, and you see yourself as a youngster just off the training wheels.
"Dad, help me on my bike," you plead. Dad holds the bike and you start pedaling, shakily at first, steadily after the first spin of the wheels. You're young enough to realize you have found some independence, but not yet strong enough to fully exploit it.
Then, at age 13, something magical happens. You join a pack of other like-minded individuals and pedal off to secret swimming destinations that are difficult to reach by car. Maybe you ride over to A Street in Hull and jump off the pier. Or you might leap off one of the beautiful bridges in Cohasset when the tide is high.
From Quincy to Plymouth, red-faced adults in steaming hot cars are lined up, hoping they have the proper beach sticker, or can find the free spot, or squeeze into the lot that charges $10 a day. You have no worries. There are plenty of places to park your bike, all conveniently situated near your adventure.
Between the ages of 16 and 20, your bike gathers dust. You're so excited to be driving a car, any heap that will start, you neglect your bike. All of your friends pack into the first car that's available, and you drive around doing all the things you used to do on your bike. And a few things you never even knew existed when you first started riding your bike.
Then one day, you wake up and you're a parent. You blow the dust off the old friend, perhaps a Schwinn or a Univega, fill the tires with air, and now you're doing the pedaling as a little puddlin' all your own sits behind you, pleading for you to go faster. It's not as much fun as sitting in the back, yelling out orders like an admiral, but it's the least you can do.
By the time you reach 55, the kids are out of the house, and you may be riding for other people by raising money for a cause, such as the Pan-Massachusetts Challenge, the ride that stretches across the Commonwealth and raises millions of dollars for the Jimmy Fund. Training for the ride keeps you off the sofa and somehow keeps you young. Or at least you tell yourself that.
As the sun begins to set on a perfect Sunday, finally, you see yourself up the road as an octogenarian. The fast bike from the Pan-Mass. years has been put away for good, and the machine of choice is the classic Raleigh 3-speed. The pedals are turning over slowly, and there's a discernible wobble to the progress down the road. The tick-tick, tick-tick of the Sturmey-Archer 3-speed hub reminds you your time on this earth isn't forever.
After gliding into the driveway and dismounting, you could be any age and think: Wasn't this a great day for a ride?
Joe Berkeley lives in Hull and often rides his bicycle to work in Boston. He named his Labrador retriever after the just-retired seven-time Tour de France winner, Lance Armstrong.
posted by joe berkeley at 7:57 AM
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