Biking in Brooklyn can be fun.  Well, I actually wouldn't know yet.  I still have to buy the bike.  This decision was   prompted in part by the five borough bike tour which was held at the onset of May, also by the realization that biking could take me places a lot faster -- and in a lot more style -- than plodding along in my Converses, and finally by fear of  developing a fat ass.

Buying a bike in Brooklyn is a mini-experience in itself.  There are certain things you definitely have to keep in mind.  I checked out three bike stores in the greater Brooklyn area (although several people kept urging me to shop at Toys 'R' Us) and found a bike load of good selections while discovering fundamentals on bike buying.  First of all, do I remember how to ride?  The last time I picked up a bike, save for a romp through Ft. Greene Park in which I was winded in five minutes, was ten years ago.

I do, however, occasionally ride the exercise cycles at the gym if I am in the middle of a good book and it's raining on Sundays.  But I don't think that counts.   Especially since riding a bike on the streets of Brooklyn is a tad different than pedaling away at the Bally's gym.  For one, you will have to actually watch where you are going.  Also, as my boyfriend pointed out, without the bike entrenched to the floor with nine-foot metal screws, you will have to employ that tricky skill called "keeping your balance."  Oh. Once you convince yourself that you can, in fact, still ride a bike (I heard it's just like sex -- it comes back to you) there are other issues to consider.  The tire issue:  Do you get the large, gangly tires that could have doubled in the "Terminator" movies on a tank or the thin, racing tires that are apt to blow out if you sneeze wrong?  Since New York City is littered with glass, car parts and chewing gum (see column on  Nature in Brooklyn), it seems the wider tires are the way to go.  Besides, as a friend of mine pointed out, "Even if you are going to ride on a smooth, paved surface, you still to have to ride over shit to get there."  The handlebar issue was an easy one to deal with -- as straight up as possible.  After quashing the possibility of developing a fat ass, you don't want to develop a Quasimodo spine, so you need to sit up as straight as possible.  Rams horn ten-speed handlebars are out, as are certain brands.  "Ross went out when we were teenagers," advised my pal, pointing out that his girlfriend bought one last year.  Never mind Schwinn; steer clear of Huffy. Unfortunately, banana seats are also out but make sure you invest in a comfy seat-- complete with padding and springs -- or your tailbone may bore through your rear (or at least feel like it is).  Then there is the cost issue.  You're looking at at least $300 for anything decent and ride-able.  There are, however, flea markets in which you can purchase "disposable bikes."  "Ones that will last a weekend," I had joked to the guy in the bike store.  "Not even," he replied, "You're lucky if it lasts through Saturday afternoon."  These are for sale at the junk mart down by Coney Island, near the New York Aquarium, and cost roughly $5 each.

While compiling all this foot work -- or shall I call it "pedal work"? -- past horror stories of bicycling came to mind.  Back in Michigan, I once rammed into the lady who was blindly pulling out of the library parking lot, utterly ignoring the crosswalk and blocking it completely.  I smashed
head-on into the side of her car, denting it nicely.  (Why do people always say "nicely" when referring to destruction? i.e. "That's a nice bruise you got there...").  She sped away as my rage unfolded in her face through her windshield -- she even rolled up the windows.  I was left to gather my newly-borrowed books, stagger back onto my bike and attempt to pedal away.  Halfway home my bike fell in half.

My friend related a misfortune he had with a curb.  He had been racing to school -- "not even going that fast!"  (Notice that people are never going "that fast" when they have these mishaps?)  While disembarking off the sidewalk, his wheel hit the curb at such an angle that his whole bike spewed sideways, leaving him sprawled on the street and bloodied.  I had to ask -- yes, he made it to class on time.

Me and the orange cone.  This accident was a doozy.  I was cruising down the side of the road, yet again in Michigan, listening to my Walkman.  Once again, notice how many accidents occur when there is loud music involved.  (Like the time the car flipped over and Led Zeppelin was still strumming away on my tape deck).  Anyway, there were those giant orange garbage cans lining the side of road because construction was going on.  Hair blasting in the wind, music exploding in my ears, I had been feeling cocky and, on the spur of the moment, decided it would be "cool" to kick one of those giant orange cans.  Never mind that it was filled with sand.

I don't really know what happened next except batteries went flying and I was lying flat on my back in the middle of the street, blocking traffic which was holed up for at least seven traffic lights.  This number seems to grow every time I relate this tale.   At first, it was a block and a half.  How it got to seven miles (note: now it's MILES!), I don't know.  I remember thinking, "Oh, no!  My Walkman!" instead of "I wonder if my head is bashed in."

A propos accidents, an important Brooklyn biking topic is safety.  The helmet is a given.  I don't care if I look like Urkel and I don't care if I get helmet hair.   Although I did see a batting helmet made specifically for people who wear pony tails, perhaps a biking version could not be far behind.  In any event, my head has suffered enough abuse through the years and I need not another potential hazard.   Knee pads, on the other hand....

There is also the bike safety issue: "How long before someone tries to steal it."  A good lock is definitely on the agenda.  Perhaps not the police lock the guy in the bike store described, the one that costs $150, weighs 40 pounds and is used to tether his motorcycle to the bowels of the earth, but a solid lock just the same.   The bike store guy said that his heavy-duty deadbolt is so secure he could even lock up his mother with it.  No further  questions, your honor.

In a nutshell, I intend to purchase a bike by the end of the week.  Besides the reasons mentioned earlier, it is crucial to point out that I want to buy a bike because I remember how much fun it is,how much freedom you can feel and sights you can see whizzing by.  So look for me sometime in June, perhaps in Prospect Park or on the Brooklyn Bridge.   There you will see me pedaling off into the sunset -- helmet hair and all.

Read Ryn's Bike Poem, "Me And My New Bike."