Virginia Wind - From Where I Sit March 2004

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Backseat - From Where I Sit

March 2004

Our Bike, Our Child

It all started two weeks ago in a way that so many major things in life do – with a phone call. It was Kent. He needed a ride home as the bike apparently had a broken belt leaving him stranded in the parking garage at work. Now this would not seem like a big deal to the rest of the world but in the scheme of our carefully orchestrated lives, this was about to be a major sour note. You see, I work in DC, Kent works in Fairfax, though not many miles apart, if any of you have experienced the horrible Northern VA traffic you know that it is many hours apart. This situation dictates that during the week we essentially lead separate lives with regard to our work schedules. I drive the “mom taxi” and head in one direction dropping on child off here and one child off there and eventually ending up at the metro station where I continue my journey via metro into town. At the exact same time I am going in this direction, Kent loads up his gear and rides out on the motorcycle every morning. His role is separate but equally important to the harmony of our lives. All of this requires precision timing to get everyone where they need to be when they need to be there. If Kent were not able to ride, our universe is no longer in sync and the potential for worlds to collide increases exponentially.

Needless to say, we were both aware of the consequences when I pulled into the parking garage a full hour and a half after he contacted me. The air was thick with tension as Kent climbed in the car. I wasn’t sure, but a broken belt sounded expensive, but I didn’t think it was a good time to highlight that fact by bringing up the question. So I innocently asked when the bike would be picked up to be fixed only to find out that it would be at least 4 days before the dealer could get to it. Part of me was worried about leaving the bike behind all alone and unprotected in the parking garage all weekend but another part of me felt like it deserved to be “abandoned in place” just as it had done Kent. As we drove away, Kent didn’t bother to look back at the bike but I couldn’t help but cast it one of those looks that immediately made my human children behave but never seemed to have impact on the bike.

That’s when it dawned on me that although we had come to depend on the bike as a mode of transportation, over time it had become more of a family member than just a means to an end. Just like a spoiled child, it had a way of getting attention whenever it wanted to. And just like a child, it could bring you great pride and joy but it could also let you down when you least expect it. The only difference between man and machine in this case is the fact that you can’t lay on the guilt, bribe, argue, reason with, restrict phone privileges or inflict a curfew to make a bike come around to acting appropriately. (Although it does appear that a “time out” will work, especially on those cold mornings that it just doesn’t want to start on the first few times.)

With all my parenting tricks exhausted, what’s a mom to do? Well, there may come a point in every child’s life where outside help is needed. Yep, I am talking tough love – where you have to separate physically and turn it over to trained professionals who can objectively analyze the problem, treat it and return your baby to you as good as new. We had now reached that point with our bike. Unfortunately, we have found ourselves reaching that point more and more often these days. Though both Kent and I were in denial, our baby was growing into quite the “problem child” and this time it wasn’t covered by insurance, I mean warranty.

Don’t get me wrong, I love our bike. I truly do. But the next few days were going to be a scheduling nightmare of mammoth proportions and there was only one responsible party - I am not mentioning any names but it is blue and ice colored and has only two wheels. For the first few days my anger at the inconvenience of it all prevented me from feeling any sense of loss as I passed the empty parking space but by the time Tuesday rolled around, I found myself missing the bike. I initially told myself that this feeling was only due to the fact that my commute had now increased by at least 90 minutes a day as we had to add Kent into the carpool route but deep down I knew it was much more. I knew that no matter how cranky and spoiled our bike had become, it was a part of who we are. And just like any other parent, we would have to learn to take the good with the bad. As we finally pulled in the dealership, we anxiously waited for them to wheel out our “good as new” child fresh from the operating room out back. As the freshly washed chrome shined brightly and the familiar roar of the engine resounded in our eyes, we heaved a sigh of relief and all was forgiven – once again.

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