Yeah, I'm a Fraud.

I absolutely love cycling. I can't ride worth a flip, but I love it. I tell my husband all the time how thrilled I am that I fell in love with the sport. Now that our son adores it as well, I know that we can spend a lot of family time together, on bikes, and outdoors. However, I am still not a cyclist. If you know me, you know I'm not. I appreciate that many people will still let me participate in cycling conversations or humor me when I want to "speak cycling" as Dr. Rick says. I appreciate that my twitter friends don't say, "What the hell do you know about it?". Well, they may say it, but thankfully, I'm in my happy place and haven't seen it. I've tried very hard to learn as much as I possibly can learn about this sport without participating in it. I've also tried very hard to be a cyclist. I'm just not one. My bike is a beautiful Electra Petra Zillia that weighs about 40 pounds. Go up a hill at 12% grade on that baby, why don'tcha?

I had a bicycle wreck when I was 15 on a friend's bike that I had no business riding. I came down a hill and all I remember is scraping the asphalt with my face, a la' Jens Voigt. I didn't come away with major injuries, but I sure as hell wasn't anxious to get back on the horse. So I didn't. I didn't get on again until I was over 30. And, I stipulated that I would not be riding a bike that wasn't the cutest one in town. Honestly, I didn't think there was such a thing, therefore I would never have to ride. Problem solved. However, my desperate hubby found and bought the cutest bike in town. It's absolutely the most ridiculous-looking bike an adult could own. AND I LOVE IT.

The most I have ever ridden at one time is around 8 miles with the family. I don't ride on the road, only paved trails, and I don't have clipless pedals. I would kill myself with those. My legs still flail from time to time, and I have just learned to take one hand off the handlebars to scratch an itch on my face. I don't have a bottle cage, because I can't take my hands off the bars long enough to get a drink. It's ok. I have a gingham-covered wicker basket to hold my wine for when I live through the ride.

The best part is when I navigate a turn, make it up a hill or handle a descent and my son says, "Good job, Mommy. You dug deep in your suitcase of courage for that one."