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I bought a new bike. Unexpectedly, even accidentally, I decided on the spot; swiftly, decisively, but not at all thoughtfully.
   I usually take more time selecting which chocolate bar to treat myself to than I did this bike.
   The sale price was attractive, substantially reduced, in a store I don’t frequent often. I was there tending to other matters when this shiny bike caught my eye.
   A recognizable and respected brand name was boldly emblazoned on the cross bar, with a card hanging from the handlebars listing the many, many features.
   Normally, or habitually, I would mull over such a purchase, then leave the store and ponder both the merits and need over a few days. I would read up on the brand and research the model with intense interest in each detail. True consideration takes time, I believe, especially when I expect a product to last me years and years, as my other bike did.
   But not this time.
   I surprised myself.
   I bought the bike, as if it was a textbook case of impulse buying, at a time when I didn’t think I needed any sort of retail therapy. I already have enough stuff, but nothing as shiny and fancy as this new bike.
   I haven’t been cycling as much as I should over the past couple of years, although I had been before that. For many years, upon my move to Toronto, I enjoyed a proximity to bike lanes and bike trails where you can, pretty much, get anywhere. Many times, my weekends were spent exploring the city on a bike.
   It is more than transportation. You see things on a bike that you don’t even notice as you whizz by in a car. Cycling, I believe, is a more humane experience. You feel a connection to the road, hands vibrating with the rough pavement beneath the wheels, as you move at your own pace. It is a tactile experience.
   I took a tumble a few years back. It knocked me senseless, scratched up my arms and legs, smashed a decent pair of sunglasses and cracked the helmet I was wearing at the time. Genuinely feeling the pain, I even went to the hospital emergency room to have my head checked, fearing concussion (or worse).
   I was a mess.
   The incident left scrapes and scabs on my cheek, chin, and nose that proved I was up to something. They took weeks to disappear.
   The scars on my psyche have taken even longer to heal.
   It took a while for me to climb back on the bike that summer. I can’t even remember last year.
   Traffic has truly become a concerning clusterfuck these days in downtown Toronto. Bike lanes have changed, some even eliminated because of all the cranes and construction in the core area. Motorists are notoriously impatient and I’d been hearing too many times about accidents (and deaths) of cyclists.
   This is a dangerous city (in so many ways) and even the route to the safer lakeshore trails can become cluttered and confusing. You’ve got to keep your eyes wide-open. Bicycle versus automobile is not an experience I wish to experience; and there have been several close calls.
   Yet, I wasn’t even thinking about that with the shiny new bike standing before me on the store’s sales floor. All I could feel was my intoxicating need to own it. Right then.
   A new bike for me is now, and has always been, inspiring.
   From the time I learned to ride, all those decades ago, a bicycle has always meant freedom and adventure. Like a kid, I stood in the store on Sunday momentarily dreaming of the glorious trips here and there throughout the city; mindful, of course, of traffic.
   I believe the new bike will inspire me again to get back on the saddle and participate in an activity I have enjoyed my whole life. Of course, I didn’t think about all this at the time of purchase, but I have a great deal since.
   Now I can travel as swiftly as my thoughts.

© 2024 j.g. lewis