I Forgot How To Ride A Bike

People say that you never forget how to ride a bike. I have physical proof that this is not in fact true.

You will never see anyone in Niihama “city” in Ehime, Shikoku walking. To walk must be a symbol of extreme poverty or poor character or something, I don’t know. Everyone is either on a bike or in a car. These two vehicles travel along on the same teeeeeny, tiny, narrow roads that wind throughout the “city” in a very organic fashion.

New Yorkers love to walk. We walk fast. We walk long distances. If we can’t walk, we raise our hand for 3 seconds and a lovely yellow taxi comes and swoops our princess-ass away to wherever we desire. If we’re feeling transit-happy we’ll take the ever-convenient subway system.

Unfortunately for me the bike seems to have been designated my principal mode of transportation by my superiors. My feet have been replaced and aren’t happy about it.

The bike my predecessor left me is some monstrous contraption from the 70’s complete with a basket, panic bell and hand-grip breaks that squeak like mad which actually come in handy for covering my screams of utter terror when I realize I can’t stop properly. While I may be able to decline Latin nouns in five different declensions I lack ANY sort of knowledge involving bikes. This includes the knowledge of how on earth to adjust the seat.

My predecessor happened to be a tall American guy – around 5’10. The seat was way too high and for the life of me I could not figure out how to adjust it. I spent a good while fidgeting with the rusty contraption turning the lever over and over again but came to the resound (and incorrect) conclusion that I must need some sort of wrench to loosen the bolts and lower the seat. I had left my tool belt and power sander at home in America.

I got together a clumsy translation of my problem and got help from the office lady and another one of the English teachers at the school (this Japanese man who has an affinity to Prince and has been driving me around for the past two days in his mini-van doing all sorts of random errands). They drove me down the hill from which I had just trudged up from, BACK to my apartment, fixed the seat for me within seconds (making me feel like a complete idiot) and then loaded the bike back up into the van and brought it BACK to the school. I’m not sure why.

The fact that they brought the bike TO school meant that I would have to get it back to my apartment when the day was through. I would rather have simply walked. It’s about a fifteen minute walk and the hardest part of it is getting weird looks from people who assume I am some sort of crazy freak since I’m NOT riding an ugly rusty bike from the 1970’s.

They were just trying to help. To my chagrin however, I learned that it is ENTIRELY possible for one to forget how to ride a bike. In my defense the thing is entirely too big for me. I’m not a huge person. This bike is like giving a baby something made for a giant. It’s hard to maneuver and within the course of five minutes trying to regain my already scanty bike-knowledge I had managed to draw blood.

The pedal managed to scrape the flesh off my left big toe leaving my foot in a puddle of my own blood which the dense humidity and heat managed to nicely congeal on my sandal. I’m sure I will contract some rare form of Japanese tetanus. It’s not exactly a moment of glory when you’re returning home from your first official day, walking your bike like Phoebe in Friends who never learned that particular skill even by the age of 32, with your big toe wrapped in a tissue in a vain attempt to stop your life juices from flowing out into the street.

However the alternative would have been much worse. I could have forced myself to hop back on and regurgitate memories from when I first learned how to ride a bike: My six-year old self and my father promising never to let go of the back of my bike but then doing EXACTLY that and thus sending me flying headlong into a chain-link fence.

The consequences here would have been much more dire. As I morosely wrapped my bloody toe

I pictured myself flying down the hill, unable to properly function the crap breaks as several Japanese cars barreled towards me – one coming at me and another from behind. I saw my demise occur in a number of different ways.

Shortest JET existence EVER.

To say the roads here are narrow is a gross understatement. Imagine a typical sidewalk somewhere in Queens – the roads are about that size and intended to fit two-way traffic AND bikes. Oh, and there are NO sidewalks.

So I took the road of a loser, walked my tetanus-filled contraption home on my bloody toe and resolved that over the weekend I’d give this hideous thing another shot. That is, unless, of course, my toe falls off, in which case balance both on foot AND on a bike will be a challenge.

Details:

You’re currently reading “I Forgot How To Ride A Bike,”

Published:
8.3.06 / 5pm
Category:
amusing incidents, what i call life, unschoolish