Just For the Fun of It - May 23 2022

 

Just For the Fun of It

May 23 2022

I was doubtful

when the training wheels came off.

Even then, I knew enough of gravity

to imagine the fall

at speed

on the concrete cul de sac

that contained my small familiar world.

Not the soft grass

that seemed more inviting to me,

but at least

mostly traffic free

according to my dad.

And now, an older man

      —   which I know should be “old”

   but please, allow me my illusions  —   

I wonder if I can still

defy gravity

make speed

feel the wind in my hair,

or at least whatever's left of it.

They say you never forget;

that muscle memory dwells

in some deep recess of the brain.

A single gear bike,

that had coaster brakes

and rusting paint

and was too small for comfort.

But memory worked,

and I remained improbably up

on two thin rubber wheels;

twin gyroscopes

just so long as they spin.

How delightful

to feel the return

of long forgotten childhood.

To feel my heart pick up

and lungs hurt,

see the trees

a blur of green.

Effortless speed

taking me nowhere in particular.

Like that cul de sac

back when the world was young;

circling the curb

until the street lights lit up,

going nowhere fast

just for the fun.

In the May 23 2022 New Yorker, Jill Lepore wrote a fine piece about bicycles, interweaving the history of the pursuit with her personal history. That article set me off on this.

I'm not really a cyclist, and haven't been on a bike in years; so as far as that goes, I'm speaking for myself here. And even though I am chronologically old, I too prefer older. But I have no doubt about my muscle memory. There was no cul de sac (just a normal suburban street), not to mention that I don't even remember learning to ride. And my vanity requires me to clarify that there is more hair left than gone!

I think the point of the poem is captured in these two lines: taking me nowhere in particular, and just for the fun. Because when we become adults, it seems everything has to be productive. We feel vaguely guilty if we aren't. There is not enough time for idleness and unstructured time.