Toothpick seats and granny handlebars

When you think about it, it's quite amazing how easily you become unused to something. It actually seems to be easier than getting used to a new thing. You know, you forget how much you loved a certain dish, you find yourself forgetting the Dutch word for "onesie", but you still can't remember how exactly to get to your new dentist's office, or you keep forgetting that "a mess of chicken" does not necessarily mean someone spilled chicken all over the kitchen floor. It's definitely possible this is just me, but I seem to do a lot better at forgetting stuff than adapting to new things. I would like to posit that this especially applies to all forms of transportation.

Think about it. I've lived here for three years, and so one would think that I am completely accustomed to locals pulling out right in front of me doing an easy 10 mph. Or someone swinging out into the left lane, only to make a right turn. Right. Think is the operative word here, because all of these actions still scare me half to death and expose the kids to a whole new set of cuss words every time. Yet at the same time, whenever I return to Holland, I adamantly refuse to drive. I used to cruise all over the country, not thinking twice about driving into major cities during rush hour, but somehow three years down south have made me a real pansy of a chauffeur. The Dutch drive too fast, too aggressively, too on top of each other, and are way too unforgiving. Did you just make a wrong turn that will mean a thirty mile detour that can be avoided if this one car lets you go in front of him? Well, it sucks to be you, because it's not happening. Yeah, that's just not for me. Not anymore.

I was pondering all of this while I was on one of my long bike rides yesterday. I was happily cycling along on my 9-speed carbon-forked 1.2 Trek roadbike with teeny-tiny tires, uber-sensitive handlebars, and a toothpick for a seat, when I remember riding my old granny bicycle in Holland only a week earlier.

You should know that I loved that granny bicycle. I still do, and am, in fact, pondering a way to ship it to Georgia, if only to have it sit in our garage as an awesome conservation starter. For those of you who are twitching their eyebrows at the words "granny bicycle"- picture those old-fashioned world war two bicycles with the super straight handlebars, heavy steel frame, and rack on the back, and you're close.

Anyway, last week I got to ride that bicycle for the first time in probably two years, and came to the conclusion that I had definitely become unused to it. Although crouching over on my roadbike will still hurt my back on really long rides, sitting up as straight as I did on my Dutch bike just freaked me out. Suddenly I felt out of control, and the fact that the handlebars came up to my chest didn't help either. Add to that that granny bikes don't really respond to any amount of leaning, and you can imagine that steering was quite the challenge. The seat was nice and wide, but even that was no good anymore. Even though I am quite capable of complaining up a storm about my current toothpick, certain bodyparts have become accustomed to it, while those parts that were rubbing against this super-wide granny seat weren't, and thus protested accordingly.

And that's just the bike. Because it was only once I got that big black monster under control, that I realized that Dutch road rules are a little different from American traffic laws. Well, in all honesty, I didn't realize that at all. I was happily trucking along as I would in the US, enjoying the views, and the lack of stop signs. I flew by various side roads too, until my father called out at me that it might be smart to keep in mind all traffic from the right has the right of way. Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that. (And on a side note, who came up with that rule anyway? I mean seriously, who did? Why can't Holland just have four way stops like all other civilized nations?). Not to mention the fact that traffic in Holland really does not care that you're on a really tall, fairly uncontrollable bike either. There is no law that tells drivers to keep a 6-ft margin between themselves and cyclists, in fact, it seems as though drivers would like nothing better than to run you off your feet. I seem to remember not caring about that one bit, and banging on car roofs and doors if they came too close, yet last week all I was able to do was squeal, jump up on curbs, and yes, cuss up a storm.

So yes, unused indeed. Although I may ask husband-dear to put a rack on the back of my roadbike, because that sure was practical.