I've always been fairly good at pretend. When I was little, I had to pretend Ken was about 10 years younger, so he could take Skipper out on a date. I pretended to run away once or twice. And when I lived in Ireland for a spell, I had to pretend I was getting married so I had an excuse to peruse the gorgeous celtic dress shops along Dublin's fanciest rue.
For my 30th birthday, Andras built me a bike. I know, he's pretty awesome. Except Andras is a racing bike kind of guy, and at the time, his idea of a good ride was pedal to the medal for 60 miles at 6 AM on a Saturday. Mine was 5 miles, slowly winding the gears of my beach cruiser toward the farmer's market, wicker basket awaiting fresh produce. I love my birthday racing bike. I feel lean on mean on that puppy. But sometimes I close my eyes just for a second and careen left and right and pretend I'm back on my old granny bike, or even a sweeter version, much like the one above, with a baguette and full picnic packed in the back.
It's probably better not to mention this sort of make believe to the bike maker. Needless to say, he's somewhat reclaimed that racing bike as his own.
Anyway, it's national bike month, so whatever kind of ride you prefer, give your wheels a whirl. We finally got a bike seat for Greta, so when you don't hear from us, we're probably off pedaling somewhere, wind through our hair, earning our next feast.