bike tales

You know when you're trucking down the street and you see a random shoe on the side of the road? Like, just one shoe. On the side of the road. Busy road, not busy road-- just a shoe. On the road. And you're like, How the devil did that get there?
Are people just walking down the side of the road and a shoe comes off and they don't even notice?

Did some kids get in an argument in the backseat of a van and in a fit of fury one kid tears a shoe off the other kid and chucks it out the window and then their mom gets mad but the shoe is long gone? Or maybe she didn't even notice because this is only one of three arguments happening in her van with six kids and the silly flip-flop/cartoon/turtle/Jesus fish/Mac apple decals on the rear window?

Did someone's foot just get too hot or itchy?

WTF?

Well, I had an experience the other day that will explain why one little and adorable black flat with a little bow ended up on the side of the road. Just one little and adorable black flat with a bow. On the side of the road.
There I was, biking down the street as I headed home from work. I've become pretty good at biking that 2.8 miles each way, deftly avoiding gravel and illicit stones, an earphone in my right ear and my iPod tucked away safely (which makes me unable to hear people on my right who say things to me, particularly 8th graders, which is a different story entirely), and my wicker basket filled with purse, cardigan, and tupperware. I even made it to work this morning in 15 minutes.

But there I was, biking down the street. I passed the Wendy's and Target and Taco Bell and Burger King, and exercised tremendous self-control by avoiding the urge to stop at all of them (and the Scary Clown Station for Haribo Raspberries omg best evarrrrrrrrrr). I got to the intersection at Center and State, and I was waiting for the White Man Go, listening to my tunes and checking my text messages. [Note: I do not text and bike at the same time. That would be the most stupid.]

Now I need you to know exactly how embarrassing the next few minutes were for me. It is taking a great deal of proverbial pill swallowing for me to tell you this, because when it happened I was, for whatever reason, near the point of tears about it. TEARS, guys.

So the crosswalk gave me the White Man Go sign, and I push off to go across the street when suddenly my left shoe came off. Just off. Right there in the road, with a thousand rush-hour drivers sitting there watching me. With all the right lane turners waiting for me, I couldn't just stop and turn around right there-- couldn't get off the bike, throw down the kickstand and run after my shoe. This intersection is not kidding around in size, you guys. I had to go all the way across without a choice. I was filled with admittedly needless humiliation because even though, sure, it's embarrassing, it also happens to the best of us (well, the best of us who wear little and adorable black flats with little bows). I got across the street, actually pulled into the parking lot of the Sprint store there on the corner, and turned around to access the situation.

On the one hand, I felt silly enough that I thought, Goodbye shoe! I miss you already but no way in hell am I going to cross this intersection three times in front of all these people!

On the other hand, I thought, Hello, these are my favorite little/adorable/black/bowed flats that are a work-clothes staple. Go get your freakin shoe, self. Of course, all the while filled with mild panic and rising embarrassment-- me, in a Sprint parking lot, with a wicker basketed bike, and one shoe.

I stared at that shoe across the road, trying to decide what to do, when, in veritable slow motion, a car turned into that right lane, ran over my shoe, and swept it away down the street.

That's the part when I almost started crying. I mean, even though those shoes were only about $20 from Forever Young and I think they even still have them there so I could replace them, that's $20 I didn't want to spend on a pair of shoes I already have/had. I don't mind spending $20 on shoes I don't have. But if I've got to spend $20 to replace old shoe, and still want a pair of new shoes, that's $40 on shoes instead of $20 on shoes-- not to mention the $20 I already spent on the pair of now pairless shoes. Also, I was now having to face biking the rest of the way home, part of it on very busy State Street, with one right shoe-- or no shoes at all-- thereby looking like a hillbilly.

Sniffing and worried about scraping my toes, I removed my remaining shoe and hid it under my cardigan in the basket (because duh, people can see into the basket from the road (no they can't)), and played the hillbilly card, hoping that anyone who saw me would just think, How cute is that little barefoot biker, letting those toes wiggle on such a nice warm day! I know that's not what they were thinking, but let me just feel better about myself, okay?

The next few minutes are a blur in my memory as I busted my chops to get home quick, or at least into my neighborhood where barefoot bike riding wouldn't be quite so questionable or dangerous. I got to my house, stuck the mail in my bike basket, and said some choice words when I carried my bike down the dirty stairs to our apartment and then all the mail fell out and I couldn't put the bike down or else I'd slip so I had to walk all over the mail and then recollect it. That's when I texted Ames about how annoyed and bummed I was and let go of my stress with a 40-minute Pilates session because I'm a Pilates queen and I earned like 13 activity points in one day.

And that is how at least one of those random shoes on the side of the road made it there.



I still haven't figured out what to do about the question of replacing them. They really are such cute shoes. Shoe. It is a cute shoe.