Well, she's been out exercising, I would respond in an indignant tone.

I bought a bicycle.

This wasn't quite as spur-of-the-moment as it might seem. I've been thinking about getting one for some time now, especially considering that I live so close to the library. It takes me about half an hour to walk to work, if I hustle. Biking seems the perfect solution, no? Assuming, of course that one has a bike.

Then I was informed at a meeting this week that, due to the upcoming construction project, staff parking would be disappearing. Parking would be available on side streets only. I ask you: does it make sense for me to drive halfway to work, then walk the other half?

I think I picked a good bike, though I'm not at all versed in the world of bicycling. It has twenty-one speeds, which seemed a bit excessive for this pancake-flat terrain, but no bike on the rack appeared to have any fewer. I didn't do a whole lot of comparison shopping, but the price seemed low enough to me; let's just hope that Eric agrees when he gets home, shall we? I also picked up a helmet - important, since it's been about eight years since I've even thought about getting on a bike.

The only question was how to get the bike home. "How tricky are these things to assemble?" I asked a passing associate, thinking that a large box would be far more transportable.

"Very," he grinned.

"Then do I need to buy a rack to get it home?"

Naw, the front wheel pops right off, and it should fit in your backseat."

It was settled. I picked the bike up this afternoon, popped it in my car ("pops right off" was something of an overstatement), and took it home to play. Now my rear hurts, my face and arms feel all salty, and my legs are exhausted. This has been the best Sunday I've had in ages.

I started out early enough, riding up and down the block with training wheels when I was about seven years old. Something wouldn't click in my brain, though, and I never managed to get past that stage; eventually, when all my other friends were riding without the training wheels, I declared that I didn't like bike riding anyway and consigned my bicycle to the garage, where it collected cobwebs until Mom gave it to a neighbor's little girl.

I didn't miss it all that much. We had scooters, you see, which carried a much lower risk of sending me groundward, face first. I was quite happy with my bike-free life, considering that just about everywhere I needed to go was quite easily accessible by foot.

Then one Christmas, my aunt decided to "surprise" me with her old, newly refurbished bicycle. I can still remember walking down the stairs at my grandmother's house, my aunt following behind me with a huge grin of anticipation on her face. When I saw the big green bike, I tried so hard to pretend that I was as happy as she wanted me to be; inside, I was groaning with agony. I didn't want another bike. I especially didn't want one now, when I would have to be the oldest kid in the neighborhood using training wheels.

I needn't have worried. My father, upon seeing me climb back up the steps and throw myself into a chair, came over and hissed, "You're going for a ride. Don't hurt your aunt's feelings." There was nothing I could say; he grabbed me by the shoulder, announced "our" intentions, and pulled me outside.

That was a long afternoon. Dad kept pushing me from behind, pulling me up off the ground, and plopping me back up on the seat for another go. By the time I was allowed to go back inside, my palms were scraped to shreds and my knees were covered with grime, but I could wobble my way down the block without assistance.

I'd like to be able to say that I rode every day after that, but it would be a lie. As soon as I could get home, that bike joined its predecessor in the garage, where it waited out the rest of the winter and the spring. In the summer, Dad decided that the family needed to go on bike trips together, so I was forced to drag it back out again. Eventually I was able to get rid of the wobbles, thanks to Dad's perseverance. I also began to enjoy riding it a little, or at least my hatred lessened, as I saw that I wasn't being teased by anyone except my brother for my lack of skill.

And now I'm actively pursuing biking as a hobby. How times have changed for me! My Dad will be so proud.