I haz a bike.
It is beautiful. Just six speeds, and fitted with full mudguards and a basket and a carrier, because Frocks on Bikes is more my style than lycra and training and gears upon gears. I’m in it for a pleasant Sunday ride with my girls. I do hope to do some riding to work too, but I’m wanting to arrive there in a state fit to work, not hot and all-of-a-glowing like a pig. So I’ll be taking it slowly, keeping well to the left of the bike lanes that are amply supplied in Greenhills.
I’m intrigued by the Frocks on Bikes movement, and its resonance with the early days of cycling, when bicycles were great liberators for women. Cyclng has seemed to me to be dominated by fitness and sports riding in recent years, so much so that it has been difficult to buy a simple bike. Several times I have been informed by bike salesmen that in fact I didn’t want a five or eight speed bike, I actually ought to have a 21 speed bike, and mudguards were just an affectation and I wouldn’t be wanting to carry anything anyway and…. sheesh! I am a woman of a certain age: perhaps I can be trusted to know my own preferences! As indeed can any woman who walks into a store and says, “I would like to buy such-and-such a thing.” Frocks on Bikes are helping to show that there is no right way to go biking, no particular thing that must be done. Instead, just ride your bike for whatever purpose of your own you might have, while wearing a pretty frock and high heels if that’s what you want to do. And to hell with what anyone else says you must, or must not, do.
Mr B has gotten himself a bike too. We’re hoping to go on family expeditions along the bridle path by the river, and in time, I hope to ride to school with the girls. In our frocks.