I Hope I Don't Die...

I picked up my bike yesterday.

It's an absolutely gorgeous day, I've got about an hour-and-a-half left of sunlight, and I'm taking the bike out for the first time in a few minutes.

And I'm not just a little scared.

Maybe 'trepidatious' is a better word for what I'm feeling. Or 'anxious'.

Nah, I'm scared.

You see, not only do I have to get used to riding a road bike and a new shifting system, but I have to learn how to use these clipless pedals I put on the thing. I've never ridden with clipless pedals. I keep picturing myself falling and smashing my head against something. In doing my reading and research, I've found out that I'm just about guaranteed to fall, at least once, likely during the first (or second, or third) time I forget to clip out. With all the new stuff I'm already going to worrying about on the bike, it's almost like I'm setting myself up for spectacular failure.

It's not just the pain of falling, or the potential damage to the bike, that has me scared, but also the idea that I'm going to look like a complete putz when I do.

Half of my brain is telling me that I'll be fine -- that I just have to take it slow, take my lumps and that I'll be comfortable once I get some kilometers under me. The other half of my brain is screaming at me -- telling me that I'm being way too ambitious and that I'm going to die.

I'm certainly not stupid enough to do all of this on Toronto streets, with traffic. I'm walking the bike over to the York Cemetery and getting the shake-down cruise in on those quieter, less trafficked lanes.

Believe me, the irony of this does not escape me.