Living in Poland for seven years, I rode various bikes for a total of at least 6000 kilometers. That’s how many kilometers my two bike computers showed when combined. On my road bike, 3500; on my mountain bike, 2500. That total was during my second stay, from 2001 to 2005. It was then that I became something of a cyclist, spending an asinine percentage of my salary on cycling equipment. During my first stay (1996-1999), I had a fairly cheap mountain bike that I virtually gave away when I left. I had no cycling computer on it, so I’d have to guess how much I rode, but I wouldn’t think I did more than 1000 kilometers in those three years, and that’s probably being generous. But that second extended visit to Poland — I rode like mad. One summer alone I did 3500 kilometers, riding in the morning and early afternoon on my road bike then riding into surrounding forests in the late afternoon on a mountain bike.

This afternoon, I dug out the mountain bike, cleaned it up, fixed a wobbling wheel, then took it out for a short spin. It had recently sprinkled a bit, and I was wary to head out on untested equipment more than a few kilometers, but still, I couldn’t resist. I rode paths I’d never done before, ending up in a spot behind the river — the destination of The Walk — that I’d always wondered about.

Two things were different this time out: first, I felt oddly conspicuous. A young man on a bike doesn’t look all that odd; a man in his forties on a bike, clearly riding for recreation and not simply as a means for transport, is a rare sight indeed. Bikes for me of my age are usually just means of transportation, often to the fields to work or from the bar after a binge (though often the rider is pushing the bike in the latter case). The second oddity had to do with the pedals: the first time in probably fifteen years or so that I’ve ridden with regular pedals as opposed to clipless pedals that attach to a cleat on the bottom of each shoe, allowing a rider to pull as well as push. I found myself wanting to pull, especially on the one or two small climbs I encountered, and the result probably looked amusing to anyone who happened to see, adding to my feeling of conspicuousness.

Despite the oddness of riding in this area for the first time in over ten years, it’s safe to say that the quick trip was a success. And in the meantime, K and the Boy were visiting other friends.

And the Girl? She’s at her first summer camp experience. She called this evening in tears, scared at the thought of her first night alone. What she really needed was a hug, and fortunately, a family friend was there with her to provide it. Still, it’s a stressful experience for us as well as for her.