The year was 1988. At least, that's what I imagine it to be. In actuality, it could have been any time from 1987-1992. These moments are hard to pin down.
I was riding with mom on a hand me down pink bike with a banana boat seat from Kellie. It was amazing. The seat was white with a pink stripe down the middle. I recall adding streamers to the handlebars and those florescent color spoke accents on the wheels. Those were the days.
Instead of riding around the block or pretending the bike was a horse when we played "the olden days" or a car when we played "soccer mom," or a cab when we played "when I grow up I will be an architect," that pink thing was a bike. And I was pedaling quickly as my mother in a bandanna and shorts was running over the overpass near Good Intent Road.
Gloucester County has really good street names like Break neck Road that flies through Mantua or Good Intent Road in Deptford. When I was older I always thought, hmmm where are we going- The path to Hell is paved with Good Intentions, so maybe Hell was really, after all, the Mall. Now I think, maybe maring the failure of actual success with a good intention was speaking to all of this suburban madness. But, at the time, I was young and I lacked the cynicism that makes me who I am today.
I was just biking and mom was just running.
Yesterday, Diana and I reshot the scene on a 7.5 trek along the waterfront. Let me tell you, that girl can bike slowly and as much as she was impressed with me for fighting with the wind for 1:11:34, debuting the first run of the season with barely sub-10 minute miles, I was impressed with her skills, too.
It was a glorious morning that turned into a glorious day. Running through parks, by the triathletes training, the volley ball players diving in the sand, the roller bladers and the marina we later stopped at the farmer's market. mmmm. running and eating ain't bad.
I also finished Three Cups of Tea, which I highly recommend. Books Not Bombs...Bikes not Bombs...it's all the same. Let's stay away from the bombs, friends, even if you're just eating your way to peace after a good run. Five words: Practice Loving Acts of Kindness.
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