Yeah, I know I look dorky in this helmet I’m not wearing correctly, but it was my first ride.
By John Murphy
The other day I told of walking from Highland to Redlands to pick up my refurbished bike.
Friday night I took my first ride, trekking from our home in the St. Adelaide’s area of Highland out to Tippecanoe Avenue in San Bernardino. Round-trip it’s 6.4 miles, or slightly more than a 10-kilometer footrace.
I wasn’t sure where in Highland I’d ride because our neighborhood is hilly. But I wound up crossing Palm and getting onto 9th Street. From there it’s a flat, straight shot out to Tippecanoe.
It felt good around 5 p.m. cutting through the cool air on my retooled Schwinn Voyageur. It reminded me of when I was a teen-ager and I’d ride my Raleigh 10-speed around San Bruno or down to Millbrae to play baseball games.
Props to Redlands’ Cyclery USA which replaced seemingly everything on this used bike and has it running like a dream. Well worth the $288 I plunked down.
Riding a bike is more invigorating but also scarier than walking. It seems like it’s a law in Highland and nearby San Bernardino that homeowners own at least one big, angry dog. Tooling along at dusk down some lonely streets, I was thankful fences separated me from these canines. Otherwise, I’d be dead.
I also knew I looked more than a little Forrest Gump-like, being a big, goofy white guy on a Schwinn bike whisking through a predominantly Latino area. It was all good until the return trip from Tippecanoe as I headed up a closed road near Indian Springs High School.
I was approaching a concrete barrier and applying the brakes when I went off a curb I couldn’t see in the dark. Splat. I tumbled off the bike right onto my big senior citizen butt. Oh, the embarrassment.
“You OK bro,” I heard a kid in the distance yelling. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m OK,” I said as I struggled to my feet. The polite teens walked on with their skateboards tucked under their arms … and I pedaled toward home, properly humbled.
Main Street Dog 