I have a bike, but I probably shouldn’t have a bike – Part One

I’ve had trouble with bikes. I mean literally, I’ve physically had trouble with them. It hasn’t been that I’m too tall, too short, too heavy, or have balance problems – I have had bad luck with bikes in the sense that it has resulted in physical trouble to me. Let me explain.

Sometime during my teens, my parents bought me a mountain bike. I was pretty excited about a fancy new mountain bike, so I took it out for a ride, which turned out to be no normal ride at all.

I was in the woodsy-hillsy part of town on a summer’s day, minding my own business whilst riding my fancy new bike.

I stopped for a rest and to take in nature. I looked down and saw specs of dirt on my white socks. I looked closer, and they were moving.

I focused the best I could – and found the specs were red and had legs, many legs actually, and they were all over my shoes, legs, and shorts.

And then I saw them on my arms and shirt.

And then I realized they were baby ticks.

And that’s when I freakedthefuckout.

Because I was covered in BABYFUCKINGTICKS! from HEADTOFUCKINGTOE!

Which resulted in my parents hosing me down, in the backyard, wearing nothing but underwear, after driving home nearly naked since I tied my clothes to the bike rack on the back of the car so not to bring any more ticks inside than were already on my skin.

Needless to say, I didn’t ride my fancy new bike for quite some time after that.

But when I did? Nope – didn’t go well that time either.

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