I gave into the peer pressure from Auggie and Alice and bought a bike. But not some stiff “old man” bike. Not a sensible hybrid. Not something designed for “active lifestyle comfort.”
Not a bicycle that quietly suggests I should start comparing lawn fertilizer.
I bought a RAD BMX bike. Because apparently some part of my brain still believes parking lots are skateparks and every curb is an invitation.
And honestly? I’m pretty happy about it.
There’s something refreshing about a BMX bike. They’re simple. Purposeful. Slightly ridiculous. In the best way possible. No giant touchscreen. No driving modes. No app.
Just handlebars, pedals, scraped knuckles, and bad decisions.
The first ride felt like reconnecting with a version of myself I hadn’t seen in a while. The one that didn’t need a reason to ride around the neighborhood after dinner. The one that thought skidding a tire was a legitimate form of self-expression.
Auggie and Alice, naturally, think this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened.
To them, I’m probably participating in wholesome family recreation.
What’s actually happening is a middle-aged man rediscovering the urge to bunny hop drainage ditches and see if he can still manual for more than three feet without immediately needing ibuprofen.
The answer, for the record, is currently “NO.”
But the urge is back.
And maybe that’s the best part.
Not trying to be younger.
Not pretending time hasn’t passed.
Just remembering that fun still matters.
That movement matters.
That play matters.
That sometimes the right answer is buying the BMX bike instead of the practical bike.
So if you happen to see a bald man jumpin’ curbs, screechin’ tires, and being generally awesome…
Yeah.
It’s probably me.
