Ride a Bike

Before the age of sixteen my bicycle was my only form of transportation. The faster I pedaled, the farther I ventured into my imagination: I was the cop, they were the robbers. I was a motorcyclist on the open road. I was the navigator of my airplane.

I grew up in a neighborhood with four other houses settled in a cul-de-sac. We all called it "The Circle." Across the road was my best neighborhood friend, Dusty. We would ride our bikes constantly around the circle, through our yards, and down to the stop sign at the end of our road only to turn around and do it all over again.

We would see how fast we could take the inside corner of "The Circle" where light sand and dirt settled. Sometimes we would wipe out. Sometimes not.

One time, Dusty rode on my bike handles. It wasn't safe, but it was fun. Especially when he flew off my handlebars because I hit the brakes too hard and quick. We never did that again. It sure was funny though.

When we drew our chalk houses on our driveways, our bikes were our cars and were parked in our chalk garages.

Our bikes acted as step-ladders propped next to a tree in order to get a frisbee down or to simply just climb a tree.

I would "repair" my bike in our garage. Fiddling with my dad's tools, not really doing anything to fix the unbroken bike, but to pretend that I knew how to fix my bike, because it was fun.

I loved my bike as a child. Almost everything I did growing up was with my bike. At first it was my sister's banana seater, and then I received my own NEW bike as a birthday gift around the age of 11 or so.

It saddens me to see some kids who don't appreciate the power of the bicycle. They are too busy with video games and television. My childhood was my bike and the adventures we had together, and I hope my kids (when I have them someday) will share this love too.

Thick Walls Make Good Neighbors

I live in a huge house with 6 or 7 other apartments. There are three apartments on the main level - one of which is mine. My bedroom shares a wall with another apartment. Needless to say, thick walls make good neighbors, and thin walls, well...don't.

I swear, the people living next to me have watched every episode of The Office more than once. They had to have, because they've been watching it since this summer! I love that show, but come on! I've come to the conclusion that they don't have cable.

For awhile there, they started watching Sex and the City. That didn't last long, I heard them humming annoyingly to the theme of The Office by the next day. I can hear it so well that I can pick out which episode they're watching. Have I mentioned that I love The Office just as much?

Anyway, my roommate has told me to pound on the wall, but I refuse. If I can hear them, then they can hear me laughing boisterously at The Golden Girls. You heard me right, I think Rose is a hoot!

I know the house I live in is older than old, but the walls are incredibly thin. I bet the apartment next to me is wondering why I laugh sporadically throughout the day or yell at random moments. If they only knew that I think most things in life are funny, and that my roomies are hard of hearing ;) Just kidding, the living room is pretty far from my room.

So as I borrow from Robert Frost's popular poem Mending Wall, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall," I can't help but think he was referring to the builders of this big old house.