Riding

I have always wanted to ride. Its just one of those bugs that bit me a long time ago and that numb feeling just never quite went away. The sports bike, that racer, has had me captive for long enough for you to grow weed and get 2 generations hooked. Always wanted to own a bike…and it has been all I have talked about for about 4 years. My conversations are something like:

CASE I:

(In a dark dark room, with one scented candle in a corner, Sade crooning ever so seductively from the surround system)

HOT HOT SHE: Honey, come to bed…

EVEN HOTTER SLEEK: Have I told you how much I want to have a bike?

HOT HOT SHE: You ain’t getting any from me tonight…

EVEN HOTTER SLEEK: I know, it’s so hard to get any bike from anyone…

CASE II:

(At a bar, in a heated guy conversation about nation-building issues, GDP, GNP, booty, soaring fuel prices, more booty, ETC, PPP, the works)

COOL FRIEND ONE: In Greek legend, when Apollo chased after the nymph Daphne, her father the river god rescued her by changing her into what? It was a tree right?

COOL FRIEND TWO: Musta been a swan…can’t see a god turning his kid into a tree

COOL FRIEND ONE: Dimwit! Your responses are always based on flimsy premises…

(Cool friend two is offended. War of words erupts. More offence. War of texts erupts. More offence. War of phone calls erupts. Even more offence. Just before war of Facebook wall posts and twits erupts, they turn to me)

In unison: Sleek, what do you think Daphne was turned into?

GREEK LEGEND GURU SLEEK: Have I told you how much I want to have a bike?

CASE III:

(Against my better judgment, hanging with serious niggers with mega street cred, tattoos, grillz, rap-lyrics stashed in the front pocket in case an audition comes up as they walk around the streets, a halo of pure weed smoke over their heads, a genuine bounce, jeans worn to the knees, very very bright white sneakers, biceps with a life of their own…the type that hit other people without the bicep-owner noticing)

COOL NIGGER FRIEND ONE: I swear, Shanty has bigger booty that Maxine

COOL NIGGER FRIEND TWO: Waa, you twerp! You don’t know these things. Maxine’s booty breaks beds. It’s definitely bigger. Sleek, what do u think?

BOOTY EXPERT SLEEK: Have I told you how much I want to have a bike?

So last Sunday I went out to learn how to ride…I know how to ride ‘other things’ (wink wink) so this time round I was learning how to ride a bike. I got a biker and headed far from the madding crowd. Then I took the seat, listened to him speak about how it is done, made some mental notes, painted some mental pictures, did some calculations, and started riding. Rode for an hour straight, sometimes with one hand, then I handed the guy his bike and headed home.

I wish. The riding was a whole new field, a challenging one at that. For one, the gears are changed by feet and the acceleration and ‘clutching’ are done by hand. Heck, it is the other way round with cars! You ‘clutch’ and accelerate with your feet and change gears with your hand, or hands if you are scrawny. Now I see why boda guys act so crazy; I think the impact of the change from driving taxis to riding bodas is too much, most of them lose it and never recover…but they stay on their bikes nonetheless, struggling to regain sanity. And to make matters worse, the boda psychiatrist always tells them the same thing when they go to see him; RIDING IS THERAPY. What he doesn’t point out is which riding he is referring to…so it is a continuous cycle; they lose it, they go to him, he dishes out the same statement, he gets paid top dollar by government to keep boda riders sane…

Back to my riding…the bike. It went well. I was a bit slow on the taking, almost rode straight into a ditch, hit the brakes sharply, had my first bike fall, injured me leg slightly, got some taunts and sympathy from passer-bys, kept on riding…did an hour straight. Learnt the basics…I know enough to ride fairly well though have to be fully engaged mentally to do so…now to buy a bike. I’ll perfect my riding on the road…drivers, here I come.