A Bicycle Built for Two

I rode fifty miles on a bicycle built for two. It wasn't like the song, though. I was not riding it with some handsome hunky man or anything. I was riding with my best friend. We've been best friends since second grade. 

There are a surprising number of perks when you ride a bicycle built for two with your best friend rather than a future husband. She farted numerous times when she was in front, with a gleeful laugh every time she let one loose without warning. I couldn't imagine a similar scenario with the opposite sex. I couldn't do anything, because we would veer off the road with any sudden motion. We veered off the road anyway, but I did my best to prevent further occurrences. 

The first hour and a half I sat in front and she in back. My legs had a surprising burning sensation that first hour, despite the fact that I am an avid biker and collegiate athlete. I guess I just wasn't used to pulling two people. She was just sitting in the back, legs out, along for the ride. She was quick to admit her lack of effort after the ride, but when faced with the multiple confrontations of, "are you pedaling," her reply would always be an unconvincing "yes". The pedaling suddenly got easier after she replied. 

My best friend is a complainer. I think I have reign to say things like that, because it is the truth, and because we would still be best friends whether she is a complainer or not. She wanted many things on that first hour of biking: energy, some grapes, sleep, a sweatshirt, home, my back as a headrest, a hug, and a bigger seat. That was just the first hour. We were biking for four hours. 

While she is a complainer, I tend to be an over-enthusiast. I get it from my mother, she used to be a cheerleader (and not just any cheerleader, she was the epitome-the captain, blond, dating a guy on the football team). She can make up a cheer for anything. Some of her enthusiasm has bubbled over into her daughter. I am a cheery-eyed optimist who ignored the fact that my butt was a little sore, and that my legs were burning. 

My best friend just reminds me of these things, and I remind her of the ice cream waiting for us in fifteen miles, and the fact that we have a little patch of downhill ahead. 

At the halfway mark we switched. She was in the front, and I in the back of the bike. In the first ten feet we almost crashed into our friend Joel, who was wearing spandex and had a bike worth thousands of dollars. I'm glad we did not crash. I heard a comment from one of the parents behind us, wondering out loud if this was a good idea as my best friend and I went careening off down the bike path. 

Twice we almost collided with bikers going by, and I couldn't count how many times we skidded off into the grass, somehow regaining our balance and continuing on our way. I kept trying to look over her shoulder, to see where we were going, and the bike would swing as my weight shifted. After about ten miles, we had a nice rhythm going. We were both pedaling, cruising at 17 miles per hour, she had the steering figured out, I was content to stare at the back of her head so as not to upset our balance, and her complaining was at a minimum. When I was in front, we were going 12 mph. Nature seemed to be in somewhat of harmony as we pedaled through small towns and under overpasses.

We reached our destination and lunch was waiting. We both took hamburgers, she took hers without the bun. I don't know why she doesn't eat hamburgers with the bun. I took four desserts, she took lots of fruit. 

After lunch, we drove home. Her boyfriend called. He is away in Iraq. She rode home chatting with him. We got out, she was still on the phone, lent me an unspoken hand in getting the tandem bicycle off the car. She left and drove away, still on the phone. 

I shrugged; I was not offended. Rudeness had left our friendship years ago. We had found our rhythm and balance, and we just riding through life on a bicycle built for two.