In my living room, a cushy sofa folds out into a bed for company. A large pillow sits atop the wooden entertainment center, a throne for kitten Charles. Knick-knacks are few. Remotes on the coffee table are plentiful. And beneath a colorful painting of Ghost Ranch, New Mexico, a mountain bike leans against the wall.
The 10-speed Kona Lanai symbolizes the active Colorado lifestyle. One might assume I spend weekends on high-country trails, pedaling up steep inclines without regard to the mud on my stylish form fitting polyester outfit.
Perhaps after the ride, I climb a fourteener (a mountain over 14,000 feet) before settling down to a healthy dinner of brown rice, tofu, and fresh vegetables for which I jogged over to the farmer's market early that morning.
It's not for nothing that Colorado boasts the slimmest of state populations. People here are acutely active. I have an elderly neighbor that hikes up mountains several times weekly and then walks her dog to the park – not the park across the street, but the bigger one several neighborhoods away.
In contrast, my helmet hangs from the handlebars enveloped in dust. The tires sag slightly. I'm not sure I even have the key to the lock.
I parked the bike after an old lady roared out of the Baptist church parking lot and nearly killed me as I bounced over the curb to avoid a face to face encounter with the grill of her Buick. She never did see me, nor did she hear my very un-Baptist verbalizing as I picked myself up and brushed the rocks off.
I started walking instead – good exercise, but not "EXTREME" in the Colorado tradition. I trudge through the neighborhood, appreciating flowerbeds and trees and trying to peak inside houses while crickets and birds cheer me on; less hurried, more to see.
Perhaps I'll sell the bike. It isn't going ride itself, and I really have no interest.
A couple of my friends are preparing for a triathlon. They both look terrific and very, well, EXTREME. Many Saturdays after they complete their jogging, biking, and swimming, I peal myself off the sofa and join them for a serious, carbo-loading breakfast. It's my way of showing support for their regimen.
Does anyone want a used mountain bike?
The 10-speed Kona Lanai symbolizes the active Colorado lifestyle. One might assume I spend weekends on high-country trails, pedaling up steep inclines without regard to the mud on my stylish form fitting polyester outfit.
Perhaps after the ride, I climb a fourteener (a mountain over 14,000 feet) before settling down to a healthy dinner of brown rice, tofu, and fresh vegetables for which I jogged over to the farmer's market early that morning.
It's not for nothing that Colorado boasts the slimmest of state populations. People here are acutely active. I have an elderly neighbor that hikes up mountains several times weekly and then walks her dog to the park – not the park across the street, but the bigger one several neighborhoods away.
In contrast, my helmet hangs from the handlebars enveloped in dust. The tires sag slightly. I'm not sure I even have the key to the lock.
I parked the bike after an old lady roared out of the Baptist church parking lot and nearly killed me as I bounced over the curb to avoid a face to face encounter with the grill of her Buick. She never did see me, nor did she hear my very un-Baptist verbalizing as I picked myself up and brushed the rocks off.
I started walking instead – good exercise, but not "EXTREME" in the Colorado tradition. I trudge through the neighborhood, appreciating flowerbeds and trees and trying to peak inside houses while crickets and birds cheer me on; less hurried, more to see.
Perhaps I'll sell the bike. It isn't going ride itself, and I really have no interest.
A couple of my friends are preparing for a triathlon. They both look terrific and very, well, EXTREME. Many Saturdays after they complete their jogging, biking, and swimming, I peal myself off the sofa and join them for a serious, carbo-loading breakfast. It's my way of showing support for their regimen.
Does anyone want a used mountain bike?
Follow up - I gave the bike away to my neighbor who had given hers to someone in need of transportation. Problem solved. Now I see it every day, locked up outside next door. I have a big empty space in the living room. Not sure what I'll do with it.
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