Like riding a bike

When I was younger I loved to ride my pink Schwinn. Sometimes I would take off on rides around the neighborhood by myself with only my speedometer to keep me company by tracking the miles I'd pedaled through. Other times, I'd be riding a long distance (really a couple of miles) with my sister to the corner store for candy or to a friend's house. I loved it. It was freedom and mobility and the rush of wind on my face and being outdoors...it was exhilarating.

As an adult, I can only think of two times where I've been on a bike. One was while Teen was working on the television show Studio 60 and late one Friday night during a visit I "borrowed" one of the bikes that was used by production people and set off for the mostly empty streets of the Warner Brothers lot. Not only was it my first time on a bike since...I couldn't remember when...there was something magical about riding in the black of a late Friday night through the fake suburban boulevards of the Gilmore Girls set with Burbank's mountain glowing in the moonlight as a background. Again, exhilarating.

Time number two was this past September at Pete's Labor Day party in Manhattan Beach. After a few hours of chowing on burgers, drinking some frightfully delicious Brazilian cocktail as fast as they could be served, losing a few rounds of ping pong to a seven-year-old and eventually getting into the bikini/sun dress combo, it was time to go out into the sunshine of a late summer day. Teen and I borrowed the bikes of Pete and a roommate, told the others we'd be back in a bit, and off we went down the boardwalk, headed for the street fair in Hermosa Beach. Sparkling ocean and sand to the right, best friend in the world in front of me and a warm September breeze cooling me off more and more with each rotation of my out-of-practice legs. It was one of those days where you hear yourself say, "Oh...This is why I live in California."

Both times it occurred to me that the old saying had been proved true. "It's like riding a bike," was exactly, well, like riding a bike. I didn't forget. I may have wobbled some, but I didn't fall. And it only took about a block for the smile to spread the full breadth of my face.

The past two weekends have been wonderful for very different reasons, but at the end of each Sunday I've found myself thinking, "Huh. I didn't forget. It was kinda like riding a bike..."

Last year at this time, there was a group of friends that had quickly bonded and held onto each other for all of the smiles and laughter and hugs that those friendships resulted in. There were a few people whom the group centered around and there were those who were more like drifters because of some kind of connection. Teen was the core, I was a drifter and Mark was a permanent result.

As a drifter, it's easy to feel out of place at first...easy to be uncomfortable...easy to wish you'd stayed at home with a bottle of wine and a chick flick instead of trying to meet new people. But if Mark was there, then I was going to be fine. I'd always have someone to talk to, because he is ridiculously easy to talk to. (Well, at least those first few times. After that, they were probably all hard-pressed to shut me up.) And while he's great for the standard LA "industry" talk, he'll also indulge me in conversations about books, politics, relationships, family, work, creative passion...life...all of it...the full menu. I'd guess that not just in our group, but every group of friends he has, Mark is a core person.

Last December, when he moved back East, everyone took it hard. Eleven months passed in which things changed a little, as they inevitably would, people changed...and then...he came back for a weekend. And I discovered that friendship with him is like riding a bike - I didn't forget how.

He still makes me and Teen laugh until we're dabbing tears out of the corners of our eyes, still does heart-to-heart sessions and is still remarkably easy to talk to.

Teen, Mark, Lemon Tree, Yours Truly

Laughter...for real

Sometimes it occurs to me that Mark sees me like maybe no one else does. Most people think I'm a softy with a side of sarcasm; Mark once told me that I tend towards quality over quantity and that when I cut, I cut to the marrow. He seems to think that I'm full of hard edges and biting cynicism, whereas I prefer to think I truly fall somewhere between the sap and the bitch, but that I'm just so damn good at portraying both, most people peg me for one or the other. He's in the minority and I'm intrigued by that, amongst other fabulous qualities of his.

Just a few days ago, however, I was neither of my alter-personas, but instead was back to my sixth grade self.

You see, Teen and I went rollerblading for the first time in 14 years. At a hut near the base of the Santa Monica pier we were handed pairs of rollerblades and nothing else. No protective gear, no instructions on how to strap these contraptions on, no helpful tips, no reminder that the brake is on the back of the right skate...nothing. Eventually memory kicked in as far as getting the cankle-makers on, but then I stood up and Teen had the joy of watching me flail about and attempt to take down an entire row of parked bikes, only to be stopped by her grabbing the first one of them and telling me to relax, let go and not to touch anymore bikes for balance. When did little sisters become the wise ones?

Clearly, this is the beginning. Teen is hugging immovable objects with the Santa Monica Pier in the background

The first few minutes were a little rough. It's hard to enjoy the gorgeous sunny scenery when your eyes are clouded over by images of yourself splattered on the sidewalk, or a repeat of that bike crash from the fifth grade that left you with a funny elbow scar. But then we got onto a smoother bike path and our bodies adjusted to this new way of moving...and before we knew it, we were zooming on ahead, me constantly turning around to smile at Teen and shout "Sister!" with sheer happiness. Or, when we were able to skate side-by-side, coming up with memories of childhood long forgotten.

We weren't skilled by any means...our arms still displayed a bit of a flail and I could occasionally be heard exclaiming, "Ohhh Booooy!" while lurching backwards, forwards and whichever way the bump in the path indicated. Somehow though, we got all the way down to the Venice Beach pier after gawking with wonder at all of the colorful characters filling the Venice markets on the way. Is this Venice? Wait, how did we get down here?! Oh my gosh, we're amazing! I can't believe we just rollerbladed all the way to Venice Beach! Oh...crap...we have to turn around and go back...

Here she comes, folks!

Trying to take a picture Teen rolled right on through my shot...and then we almost fell over laughing

As we turned to head back north, the conversation turned to how much fun we were having, how gorgeous the day was, and that experiences like this - blue ocean, sailboats, palm trees, yellow sun and warm November breezes - were why we lived in LA, despite it's many pitfalls. Oh, and we were also discussing how unbelievably sweaty I was, while also being very excited over the fact that we were actually really enjoying an aerobic activity. A few minutes after discussing how we wanted to buy our own rollerblades and make this route a part of our weekend routine, we were whining about the fact that we couldn't feel our feet, our knees hurt and every muscle below our belly buttons seemed to have joined the strike. Whatever proper blading form we had gained was now lost to muscle fatigue that had us clomping along like rusty robots on wheels.

Still, when we finally rolled triumphantly back into the rental hut, only these things mattered:

1) Neither of us fell!

2) We were both sweaty and happy about it

3) We'd had a total blast

4) We went six miles round trip! On ROLLERBLADES! We are athletic superstars! (No wonder our muscles were screaming and freezing up!)

Turns out that rollerblading with your sister is kind of like riding a bike...with your sister. We didn't forget - we had as much fun rollerblading as adults as we did rollerblading or bike riding as children. In fact, we may have had more fun, because I don't recall as a child continuing to talk about our latest bike ride days later and the fact that we had to do it again as soon as possible. I suppose that has something to do with the difference between childhood and adulthood. As an adult, you have to hold onto the moments and the people that make you that joyful. You have to make a conscience effort to be happy and enjoy life - the full menu of life.

The fundamentals are like riding a bike. Once you've learned how to be a friend or rollerblade, you've got that skill set buried somewhere in muscle memory (even heart memory), waiting to be shaken awake whenever you decide it is time to do so. It's taking it all one step further, turning the people you know and the experiences you have into your own form of bliss, that takes the effort. If you're very lucky, it takes minimal effort.

Lately, I've been very, very lucky. I hope it lasts a little longer, because I haven't always been so fortunate, which only makes me feel all the more blessed in my current state of happiness.

I wish all of you the same, plus a pinch more.