Lola arrived in pieces and I drove out to my parents' house so I could assemble her with my dad. I ended up staying longer at my parents' house than planned and had a surprisingly pleasant time of it.
My dad and I bonded over bike assembly, on Saturday we went out to Performance Bikes and I was treated to a goody bag of bicycle accessories for which I am quite grateful. On Sunday my dad bestowed some of his old bicycle jerseys upon me and my dad, my mom, and I went out for a ride along the beach in Ventura.
It was nice to have some exclusive attention from my parents. The eldest of four children, I guess I just haven't spent a lot of time with just my mom and my dad. I'm coming to the age where we can all be adults, but on our ride, I was also allowed to indulge in a childlike security, without any distractions from my brother or sisters. I was allowed to play and be myself without the scrutiny I once felt (Whether real or imagined). Riding with my parents was immeasurably pleasureful, engaging in a beloved activity with those who gave me the life to engage. I think they are falling in love again, and to see that affection transformed them into visions of their younger selves before my eyes, and I could place my own youthful romances among them. I feel I understand them and myself better.
I named my new bike Lola Divine. Her name came to me in a dream. As I was falling asleep, a line from The Kinks' "Lola" surfaced from the recesses of my subconscious, and so I determined that the bike must be named Lola. Lola Divine for a little bit of flair. She is deceptively girlish with her pearl pink enamel, and though she is just a tad too tall (I cannot stand completely flat footed over her), she rides like a dream, and I instantly feel at ease on her. "She walk like a woman, but she talk like a man."
It fills me with great pleasure to look across my room and see my two favorite things in the world, nuzzling against one another like dogs asleep by a fire (The Hedgehog and Lola Divine).
Now I am eager for any excuse to ride and I have been spoiling myself with further bike accessory purchases.
And here is my dad's gorgeous twenty-year-old Bottecchia, which had been sadly hanging from the garage ceiling until I encouraged him to ride it, and he did, and we raced down and back up the hill to the house.
He beat me! But only because, in my youthful lust for speed, I had shifted all the way up for the maximum downhill charge. Wiser, he had conserved his gears, and beat me on the upswing.
I guess I still have some things to learn.
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