Bike Season is officially here, so keep the iodine handy. A couple weeks ago I brought what was formerly Elder Princeski's long-outgrown, hot-pink set of wheels into the local bike shop for a tire refurbish, and the guys could barely look up from their wrenches and chains, they were so busy sliming and realigning.
(Slime is, of course, a registered trademark and the brand name of that funky stuff they smear on the inner tubes to make them self-repairing. The bike shop has a huge tank of it sitting on the floor, next to their scattered worktable, and for a few extra shekels they'll apply it to your inner tubes, saving you much sorry later in the season).
The number of first-time bikers on our block -- among them, our own Always the Imp --can appear greater than the total number of children around here. The other afternoon I edged toward our driveway while noting at least a dozen (including a couple of my own) within a three-house stretch, wheeling about like scattering sparrows.
The scene inspired me.
A day or two later, That Guy I Married set off with Elder P to get her a new bike, accompanied by my long-neglected red frame, with its shredded seat and failing gear shifts, in the hopes that a renewed set of wheels would inspire me to re-commit myself (yet again) to some sort of reasonable, enjoyable fitness plan.
I can't speak for the future but so far, so good. I've managed to get myself out on it two days in a row -- if only around the moshav, at this point. Only 28 more days of this and I'll have myself a habit.
Nothing like that burst of speed down a hill, that rush of air across the face, to remind me what every kid worth his weight in helmets already knows. So get out the iodine, and get out there.
The hills are alive...
Keep fit, and keep the balance,