Free 0451471075 (N) by Jen Lancaster

along the lakefront, I can’t help but notice how many people are out riding their bicycles.
    “What’s up with the billions of bikes? It’s like Holland or something up here,” I remark. “You notice they’re not dressed like all the Lance-Armstrong-try-hards around us? It’s strange.” We live very close to a bike trail and every day I see dozens of spandex-clad, logo-covered, Tour de France wannabes whizzing past my house on four-thousand-dollar road bikes at thirty miles an hour, which makes for an unexpected thrill when trying to pull out ofour semiblind driveway. However, these people up here in Milwaukee? Folks are out riding around in their regular street clothes, midday.
    “It’s weird, right?” he replies. “How come they’re not in sweats or Under Armour? We just passed a guy in a sports coat and two girls in dresses.”
    “Maybe everyone has DUIs?” I muse. “We are in a town built by breweries.”
    As we proceed, I lose track of how many Milwaukeeans I see on bikes because there are too many to count. They’re all ages and ethnicities and sizes, too. The only common denominator is a demonstrable lack of proper cycling gear and a distaste for helmets. Are folks’ heads harder up here? Is this some form of Wisconsin Tough I’ve not previously encountered? We keep passing bikers smoking while they ride, too. What’s up with that? Do they keep Miller Genuine Draft in their water bottles, as well? I guess this really is a party city.
    A number of overweight people are tooling past us just as breezily as their thin counterparts and that makes my heart smile. Good for you! I cheer in my head. You ride that bike like aboss ! The cyclists appear cool and carefree, and not a massive bundle of nerves like I’d be, all worried and self-conscious that my weight might throw off my center of gravity.
    Each of the bigger bikers seems as serene as Buddha as we pass, which makes me seriously ponder my own history with bikes. I loved my bike and I feel like our relationship ended far too soon and that’s why learning to ride again is on my list. When I used to go to the gym, I’d often hit the stationary machines, but they didn’t offer the same thrill as pedaling along a lake path, the warm summer breeze to my back. The road to nowhere on the treadmill never bothered me, nor did the elliptical, but there was always something intrinsically wrong with staying in the same place on a device designed for locomotion.
    We continue to work our way toward home and at one point, the entire car is surrounded by bikers. When did Milwaukee become China? What’s the deal? I start Googling to see if I can get to the bottom of Milwaukee’s clearly rich and diverse bike culture and discover that it’s ranked in the top twenty-five of Best Biking Cities. Hey, good on you, Milwaukee!
    The bikers’ enthusiasm is contagious and I begin to get excited, yet I wonder if riding a bicycle is like . . . well, riding a bicycle? Is it truly impossible to have forgotten how?
    While I’m digging around for more info on what a newbie might ride, I run across a photo of a three-wheeled bike for adults.
    Oh. My. God.
    Each of its wheels is a triumph of thick tread and grippy black rubber, with white walls for that extra touch of class. I bet this bike is steady as a mountain goat in a meadow pass. Imagine the stability of a whole extra wheel !Like, no one would build a two-legged table, right? But a three-legger? Yes, please!
    I bet a person could be as pudgy as she wanted and she couldn’t fall off of a bike like this even if she tried. She’d never be in danger of taking a tumble in front of some weekend warrior in padded Rapha gear. I bet if she rode it for a while, she might be less pudgy, too.
    I continue to tab. Aha, what’s this? The three-wheeled bike has just one speed, so there’d be none of that confusing shifting that can be so vexing if you’re twelve and don’t read instructions. As I never could quite figure out