Well, technically for my head, but only when I’m on the trike. I’ve had mine (the helmet, not the head) for about 5 years now and it’s starting to look a bit shabby. The shiny blue plastic part that covers the black foamy stuff (sorry if I’m overwhelming you with these technical terms) is cracked in many places and pieces of it have already fallen off. It looks like pretty much everything else that spends a lot of time in the Arizona sun.

See?

When I told Biker Buddy he said, “Doncha have any tape?” He showed me his helmet, where he’d “fixed” cracks in its shiny plastic stuff.
I told him, “I’m a girl. I’m not gonna slap duct tape on something and say, ‘This looks great! I’ll happily wear this out in public!’” He laughed.
So we rode up to Wal-Mart to find me a new helmet. Biker Buddy was all set to cover things like how does it fit and is it adjustable and how does the cost compare to the quality – I was focused on what color is it. We’re a team that way. We found about 30 types of helmets on display! Many bright colors and patterns! Jackpot!

Awwww

Unfortunately, most were sized for Ages 3-5. I may be a kid at heart, but ‘at head’ I wasn’t gonna get the protection I needed from a tiny helmet. Nor could I use the Ages 5-8 group, nor even most of the 8-14’s. There were some Ages 14-Adult options, but they were all blatantly boring by comparison.
So we rode off wearing the helmets we’d come in with.

Mine still sans tape.

A week or so later I was riding to the grocery store. Second gear had been giving me trouble, so I stopped at my favorite bike shop, which was conveniently on the way. Dale took one look at my trike, whipped out a wrench, and fixed it on the spot. He said there’s an adjustment window by the chain (on the part I like to call “the transmission”) that has two bars and a dot. The dot is supposed to be right between the bars when the trike is in second gear. Mine was off-center. Story of my life.

As long as I was there anyway, I asked him where would be the best place to get a new helmet. He said, “I got helmets right here.” I was astonished! I’d been in his shop many times and I’d never seen helmets. He took me inside and pointed to a couple shelves loaded with brown cardboard boxes. Not one helmet was visible! None on display. No wonder I didn’t know they were there! I told him this wasn’t exactly a perfect marketing strategy and he said, “They don’t get dusty this way.” As he walked toward the shelves he asked if I had a color preference.

I replied, “Bright, shiny, flashy …”

He gave me the same look Biker Buddy gives me almost daily and muttered, “I should’ve known.” He didn’t really have any that “fit the bill,” but he had a pearly white one with some subtle not-quite-flowerish-things on it that wasn’t ugly. It was more expensive than the ones at Wal-Mart – even the ones that fit – but not by a whole lot. I told him I’d keep looking.

official helmet, pearly white

Dale then told me a story of helmet history. He said that at one time helmet makers had offered something called “helmet covers”. You could buy the black foamy part in the appropriate size, then get a shiny plastic thing that snapped on over it. There were many styles, and you could even get one custom printed with your own design. I was thinking, “This is what I need!” until he went on … They had to discontinue that program because people who fell while they were wearing those helmets often got broken necks. Seems the shiny, glitzy, fancy part would pop off on impact with, say, pavement, leaving just the black foamy stuff. That’s the part that really protects your head from said impact, but it isn’t slick or slippery at all. Doesn’t slide upon impact. So it would grab the pavement and stop. You’d still be in motion, so your neck would break as you flipped right over your helmet. Your head wasn’t hurt, but your neck didn’t come through nearly as well.

I told him that was a lovely story and I left – but all the way to the grocery store, and then all the way home I couldn’t stop thinking about the spots of black foamy stuff exposed by the missing blue plastic on my helmet. I rode very carefully.

Later I was telling Biker Buddy about all this. I said I thought I’d go ahead and buy the pearly white helmet. I hadn’t seen anything I liked better (at least not that would fit). Besides, Dale’s always helping me with the trike (fixed second gear!) and it pays to shop local and all that. Naturally, by the time I made this decision Dale’s shop was closed, but he’ll be back. And then my head will be fully protected.

Just not fully decorated.

When I decided to get a tricycle, I hadn’t been on any kind of bike for about 12 years. That was the time my friend Debby and I had agreed to go riding with our new friend Lisa and her husband, who were avid cyclists. (I don’t remember his name, but it probably doesn’t matter since they’re divorced now anyway.) Neither Debby nor I actually owned a bike, but we were the strong-willed, independent take-charge kind of gals who would not allow such a trivial detail to stop us.

Scottsdale, AZ – where all this took place – has a gorgeous 22-or-so mile bike path running through it, and there was at least one place along that path where you could rent bikes. So Linda and what’s-his-name in their little SUV with the sturdy and functional bike rack carrying their official and expensive bikes, and Debby and I in my little ’88 Chevy Cavalier, which wasn’t much bigger than a bike now that I think about it, set off for the bike rental place.

After perusing the selection carefully, Debby and I decided to go for a bicycle-built-for-two. We were promptly informed that it was correctly known as a “tandem”. (What’s-his-name was big on  the lingo.) Linda and what’s-his-name tried to talk us out of it, saying it was difficult to coordinate riders on a tandem, and both starting and stopping were tricky, and we were novices, and on and on. We took it anyway, based primarily on Debby’s incredibly logical proclamation, “It’s cute and we will look good on it!”

The bike rental clerk took our drivers licenses, made us sign papers essentially saying that if we were maimed or killed we’d still pay for repairs to the bike, handed us helmets, and instructed us to have fun. Debby and I can have fun pretty much anywhere, so we didn’t see a problem with that.

If we’d had a video camera we probably could have won the $100,000 from America’s Funniest Videos just for the part about getting on the bike. By the time we were boarded we were all sore from laughing so much. Well, all except what’s-his-name. He took his biking seriously, and kept instructing us in clipped tones as we laughed not only at our own ineptitude, but also at him. Apparently he hadn’t been listening when the bike rental clerk told us to have fun.

We finally got started, but we weren’t moving any too fast so Linda and what’s-his-name quickly left us behind. I was on the front because Debby didn’t want to be responsible for changing gears. It wasn’t long, though, before we figured out that I was not particularly effective in front. I am long-waisted, which is a nice way of saying my legs are short. The seat was lowered as far as it could be, but this was a pretty big bike and I was losing touch with the pedals about 3/4 of the way down. I’d push each pedal hard when it was at the top, then try to catch it again when it came back around.

So we stopped the bike – far more smoothly than what’s-his-name would have expected – and switched seats. Debby got us to a sort of middle gear and then just left it there. I was contributing more to the actual propulsion of the vehicle now, so we were moving along pretty well and dutifully following the clerk’s instructions by having fun.

We hadn’t seen Linda or what’s-his-name since we started, but we kept going, knowing they were ahead of us somewhere.

Since we were in Scottsdale, the weather was beautiful. It was nearing dusk, so we didn’t have to worry about sunburn, and the air had cooled off to about the mid 80’s. (In Scottsdale that’s just short of sweater weather.) And with the breeze created by our movement, we were feeling pretty good.

For a while…

Debby has always promoted exercise as being a spectator sport, and the only exercise that interests me involves a happy ending, so neither of us was what you’d call “in shape.” Add the fact that we hadn’t been on bikes since high school and you see why we got to huffin’ and puffin’ in a pitifully short time.

We came down a gentle hill – grass on both sides of the path, kids playing with a ball off to our left, a family having a picnic on the right – basically an idyllic scene, and suddenly Debby said, “uh-oh.” I leaned to look past her and saw the problem: at the bottom of our little hill was about 40 feet of flat ground, followed by what appeared to be a HUGE uphill climb. Now we may not have been professional bike riders, we may not have been seasoned, or in any way experts, but we knew immediately what we had to do. We coasted to the base of that mountain, got off the bike, leaned it against a light pole, stripped off our helmets, and fell face first into the cool grass.

We were sprawled that way, panting, when Linda came back looking for us. She started freaking out because she thought we’d crashed the bike and been thrown off! We pointed out that the bike was upright against a pole and our helmet straps were in our hands, and she calmed down.

We then politely informed Linda that she and what’s-his-name could ride for as long as they liked, but we were taking the tandem back to the rental place and we’d meet them in the bar next door to it. We now deemed it a brilliant marketing strategy to open a bar next door to a bicycle rental place, and we intended to reward the bar owner for his entrepreneurship.

But mostly we just did NOT want to go up that hill!

the way many stories told by women begin: I met this guy.

The guy in my case is an avid biker, by which I don’t mean motorcycler, I mean actual bicycler. Somehow he got me interested in biking, too. I hadn’t been on a bike in (literally) years, but now I’m practically an addict. I work four days a week, and much of the year I can only ride on the other three, since it’s either too hot or too dark to ride before or after work. I find myself looking forward to rides like a child looks forward to a birthday. Absolutely not what I would have expected of myself before I met the aforementioned guy! I call him “Biker Buddy” and he is an incredible biker. I would probably have given up on riding by now if it wasn’t for him. I have even gotten to where I’m comfortable riding by myself sometimes, but if I’m going very far I prefer the camaraderie of having him along. It’s a security thing, too. We don’t live in an isolated area, and many drivers are not on the alert for bikers, so riding can be dangerous – all the more so if you’re alone.

I’ll have to admit here that I didn’t exactly become a “bike” rider myself. I went one wheel higher and got what’s called an “Adult Tricycle”. It’s the kind of vehicle you usually see in trailer parks whose residents are politely described as “55 and older.” One wheel in front, two in back, with a big basket between the rear ones. That basket has been a great asset in hauling things home from yard sales, the plant nursery, the local tree with ‘free all you can pick’ grapefruit, and many other places. As noted, I hadn’t been on a bike for years, and I’m not some 20-year old Barbie doll, so I wasn’t completely comfortable with the ‘balancing myself on a bicycle’ idea. I’m a 50-something, full-sized (or more) woman on a tricycle, and apparently that makes me an anomaly around here. There are other bikers out and about, but I’m the only triker we see. Also, I added a brim to my helmet and I clip a rear view mirror onto my sunglasses, and those seem to brand me as unique, too. Biker Buddy says that when he rides by himself drivers never wave him across at intersections, but when I’m along they almost always do. I told him that’s because they want to watch me cross in front of them! It’s a pretty sure bet that they’ve never seen anything quite like me.

Me and Biker Buddy

Biker Buddy has been a very sweet, understanding, patient, downright gallant fellow as I’ve been learning to ride. At first we would have to stop every 10 minutes so I could drink some water and just breathe a while. My endurance and stamina have since improved, and now we don’t do that nearly as often. But he has never complained. He’s never chastised me or called me weak or made me feel bad about detaining him. He could have ridden to wherever we were going and back 4 or 5 times in the time it took me to get there just once, but he never mentions it. And he’s very knowledgeable about bike (and trike!) maintenance, so he’s been invaluable there, too. The best accessory I’ve ever gotten for any of my trikes has been Biker Buddy. He’s the man! He’s marvelous! He’s spectacular! And he’s probably reading this, so I have to be complimentary if I want him to keep riding with me …

This blog will be a series of stories about adventures Biker Buddy and I have had on our excursions. One of my goals in life is to be not boring, and that has been known to get me into some odd situations. Ever since I got my first Adult Tricycle, I’ve been bringing Biker Buddy along for that ride. All of these stories are my memories of the actual events. If you were a part of any of them and you remember things differently, write your own blog.

Now kick back and join us as we ride – me on my trike and he on his bike, which puts us On5Wheels …