Musings From A Bicycle Seat

My bottom feels like a well-pounded flank steak.  No small wonder!  I'm home now, seated in a comfortable chair after an 18-mile bike ride.  I live in an area where famous wine-producing valleys are a short ride away.  People from all over the state, country and quite likely the world come here with their bicycles to ride the hills and valleys of this beautiful countryside.

Acre upon acre of "wine on the hoof" can be seen as I pedal along on my trusty sienna-colored Bianchi bike past thousands of grapevines.  I pass one winery after another whose products adorn the shelves of the liquor departments in stores here and across the country, most of them sporting a ridiculously high price tag.  I'm halfway surprised that grapvines haven't been planted up and down the median of our freeway.  If someone could figure out how to irrigate them, I'm sure it would've be done long since. 

My husband is more diligent abut the beneficial exercise of bike riding.  At this point in our lives, a bicycle offers the best kind of exercise.  It's fun, middle-aged joints friendly and relatively free.  During the months of good weather (and we have many), he tries very hard to get out and ride a few times during the week.  It may be just a thirty-minute ride but his reasoning that a little something beats a whole lot of nothing is both profound and right on!

I, however, am more of a weekend-type, recreational cyclist, hence the sore rear.  Once I've been pried from the house and find myself pedaling away from it, I always enjoy the ride.  My husband often says he likes to ride his bike "like a kid".  When he's not off on a legitimate ride, he likes to cruise around town and see what's going on.  Sometimes when he heads out, he has no particular destination in mind.  I, being the more pragmatic one, prefer a specific route.

Recently, he was talking about things he imagined his bike to be at times and asked me if I ever did the same.  Not being blessed with the very fertile imagination my husband possesses, I had to answer that no, I never imagined my bike to be anything other than what it was--a bike!  Oh, Lordy!  What a Dull Dora!  Then, to salvage my pride somewhat, I began to pay attention to the things I thought about during the course of a ride.  It turns out that for a lot of the time I was thinking about sex. 

The slow but steady climb up a hill to its peak and then to coast or pedal furiously down the other side is not at all unlike the glorious crescendo to a mind-blowing orgasm!  Careening down a long hill with the wind blowing on my skin and through my hair as the scenery rushes by in a blur is a thrill that's right up there with sex, especially if you don't cheat and use the handbrakes.  It's fun, exhilarating and can leave you breathless.  Need I say more?  Oh yes, I wonder what it would be like to do this naked.  What did you expect?  These are the musings of a naturist, after all!