Backseat - From Where I Sit

August 2003

By: Michelle

Learning to Adapt

The sun finally came out on a Saturday! It took months but it really happened. Kent and I were so excited to really be taking our first "real" summer ride. Neither of us could wait. As soon as we were geared up, we began the routine of mounting up. I folded down the backrest and prepared to assume my position on the backseat of the bike. I happily swung my leg over the seat and in mid-flight it happened - my leg inexplicably folded up and refused to make it completely over to the other side. It just sort of laid there helplessly on the back seat, mere inches from its intended target. Since this had never happened before, wasn't quite sure what to do about it. I ended up sort of scooching it across the rest of the seat until it sort of dropped off the other side. "Man!" I thought to myself, "all these weeks of rain have left me really out of practice." Luckily, a quick glance around the parking lot confirmed that no one saw my little faux pas. With no witnesses, I had nothing to discuss, so off we went.

After about an hour or so of riding, it was time to stop for gas. At the appropriate time, I began my mounting routine again. I folded the backrest down and prepared my leg for launching. Half-way! It only made it half-way this time. Instead of getting better, things were getting worse. This time I had to grab my leg with my hands and shove it over the edge. Ok, this was starting to seem like maybe it wasn't just some sort of quirk. I got cricks in my neck from surveying the parking lot so quickly to see if any one noticed. Luckily, no one did - well, almost no one. As I turned my attention from the parking lot to my immediate line it sight, my eyes locked on Kent's. I couldn't help but notice that he was stifling a smile. Not wanting to make a bigger issue out of this than necessary, I decided to play the whole thing off and never acknowledged his glance. With my pride still more or less intact, we headed on down the road.

Eventually the inevitable happened - it was time for a pit stop. Kent dismounted and asked me if I needed to go inside. Even though a full bladder was calling loudly inside, I stubbornly refused. I wasn't about to risk another "leg-lift" crisis. Kent seemed to take forever inside and after what seemed like an eternity of squirming, I finally gave in and hopped off. A few moments later, it was time yet again to face the moment of truth. I spent a moment in silent meditation. Focusing all my energy on my right leg. I repeated mantras. I prayed. I envisioned my leg reaching its goal on the other side. Finally, I took a deep breath and swung my leg as high and as hard as I could. Out of nowhere I heard a groan - just like an old man who is trying to get out of his easy chair. I was mortified when I realized that groan passed from MY lips. Oh, why wasn't the engine running, at least the sound would have drowned my embarrassment. To make matters worse, my foot once again folded under my rear end. This time, I didn't even have the heart to drag it over the rest of the way. It was at this precise moment, when life was at its darkest, when Kent decided to speak words of encouragement:

"You learn to adapt," he kindly offered. Then he had to spoil the moment by jokingly adding, "Next thing you know you will be wearing bifocals."

Now, it's not that I am being nasty about this, but I want to note for the record that he said these very words as he was looking over his very own pair of bifocals. Then it dawned on me, suddenly all the years of teasing him about his age lost all its oomph as everything I had been dishing out came back to hit me squarely in my own aging face. I could hear the words "pay back is hell" echoing inside my head as he attempted to further explain that "this sort of stuff starts happening once you are 40ish," and again he offered "but you learn to adapt."

At first I could only stare at him at a total loss for words. After much thought I decided I had to agree with him because the more I thought about it, the more I could actually feel my body "adapting" and shifting as my butt started creeping up my shoulders as I prepared my response.

Epilogue: The following Sunday, Kent and I went on another long ride. After several moments of deep meditation, I swung my leg up higher than a Tae Kwon Do kick and it landed beautifully on the other side of the bike! My groove is back! Sorry doc, keep the bifocals for a few more years…

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