Bike Tales

Now that I have my new (to me) bike, I’ve been experimenting with all the ways in which it makes me independent. The one that particularly stands out in my mind, is the market run. 

Each market run, our house purchases 30-40 lbs. of fresh fruits and vegetables. The market is maybe about a mile away and consists of a series of stands and counter tops at which you can purchase all manner of fruits, meats, vegetables, rice, and a few items of hardware. It covers the area of maybe 3-4 city blocks, and is always bustling with buyers, sellers, and beggars. 

The day threatened rain, but I decided to brave the adventure, and head to market on my bike. Although I realized that it would be a bit of a challenge, I did not anticipate quite the fiasco that awaited me! I rolled into the market on my nearly flat bike tires, dodging people and dogs and vehicles.  Quickly I dismounted, and wheeled my bike to the first stand. As the man weighed the carrots and potatoes, I noticed that it had begun to sprinkle outside. Now at this point, it is important to note that the Filipinos are rain-o-phobic. Umbrellas go up at the slightest sign of a dark cloud, and anything/everything is used for shelter. What I would consider pre-rain or slight sprinkles, they run through, heads covered, screeching as though caught in a downpour. This said, I noticed increased chattering, stares, and shocked looks as I pushed my bike toward the next stand.

When I showed up at the fruit stand, Michelle was particularly chatty. She speaks English quite well, and had all sorts of things to ask and to say. I tried to be patient, but the rain was falling harder now, and I still needed to buy a basket. My bike only has a rack, and it was certainly not sufficient for the produce I was purchasing. Finally, transaction complete, Michelle let me run off to find a basket. I was able to find an inexpensive plastic basket very quickly, and I retraced my steps to pick up all the produce I had just purchased. As I loaded up, I noticed that the basket was much heavier than I had anticipated. Still, I thought, I could strap this on my back rack without any problems.

Finally I made it back to the vegetable man. He was very intrigued by the fact that I was planning to bike this produce all home.

“Mom, you are so beautiful to ride a bike.”

(embarrassed giggle) “Thank you”

“ Where are you going to? To M----- or to B----?” He asked.

“ Oh, I’m going to B----.”

 “Oh Mom! Can you peddle up that big hill?!”

“Yes, I do it every day.” I nonchalantly replied.

“Oh Mom, you have very nice legs.”

I smiled, though I must admit I was internally having a cultural conflict over whether to feel flattered by his intended compliment, or taken aback his forward comment about my legs! I decided it was meant to be harmless, and continued trying to strap my rather bulky bag of produce to my bike rack. Kind sir that he was, my vendor friend went and retrieved some used plastic twine to help. We pulled and knotted, and managed to get that basket strapped to my bike. Off I pedaled, feeling a tad smug with my independent success.

Smug, that is, until a few corners and screeching halts later, when the basket was sitting dangerously lopsided, my skirt was not cooperating, and I had now confirmed that only one of my bicycle brakes worked! Besides that, the rain was now a bit more earnest in its descent, so I was feeling a bit panicky. Embarrassed to return to my vegetable vendor, I walked my bike to another booth and bought some more plastic twine. My bike was precariously balanced on its kickstand, and I was strapping the produce on even more tightly, when a car showed up, trying to park where I was working. Impeccable timing! I shuffle-scooted my bike out of the parking space, trying desperately not to let my food hit the pavement.

Finally, I reasonably secured my basket, and set off on my merry way. Dodging cars, pot holes, and raindrops, I pedaled furiously toward home. I had to keep my right hand on the handlebar, because it controlled my only functional brake. As I rode along, the basket strapped behind me became increasingly lopsided. My left hand became occupied holding the basket upright as I struggled up the big hill. The rain fled, and the sun came out, scorching me with midday heat. All along my way helpful strangers made comments about my interesting situation. To make matters worse, my plastic twine hit the top of my tire, and as I rode, it gradually sawed through the twine, and one by one, the strings holding my basket in place frayed to a thread, and snapped!

 By the time I reached my gate, I didn’t even have the energy to unlock it. Thankfully, my housemates came to the rescue and helpfully documented the situation as well. I was weak from laughter as I recounted my adventures. I defiantly have to brainstorm a new method for transporting hefty amounts of fruit and vegetables in my future. It’s an adventure I wouldn’t trade, but also one I have no desire to repeat.