I can hear my daughter outside riding her new (to her) Schwinn Bantam. I know it's her because she can't resist ringing the bell every ten or fifteen seconds, following it up with a laugh or a whoop and a holler. At this point she's pretty easy to pick out whether you can see her or not. I've got some work to do on the bike though; during a cursory cleaning and surface rust removal today I noticed the rear wheel has some wobble to it. Gonna have to pull it apart and fix it. I don't know how to do that.
Do understand, this is some seriously foreign territory for me. Until a couple of months ago the only time I'd ridden a bike as an adult was when my driver's license was suspended back in '98 or so. I rode for ninety days then gave the bike away when my driving privileges were restored, and that was that. I didn't see riding as fun, or liberating, or even a choice; quite the opposite, really: it was part of my punishment.
Fast forward fifteen years and here I am, 43 years old and biking several times a week. Voluntarily. Enthusiastically. And loving it. This will be my little spot to document random notes from my journey, both past and present. I hope some part of it is helpful; I have no doubt much of it will be entertaining; maybe some even-newer-than-me rider will find a little bit of inspiration in whatever transpires.
But for now I've got to go look at the rear wheel on a little red Schwinn.