It's Personal: School or Bust

Before I owned the silver 1984 Toyota Celica GT Hatchback with power roof, windows, and doors, I owned a refurbished 10-speed bicycle, my vehicle of choice for traveling to school from my apartment during middle and high school. Like some deranged mailman, I set out on that straight handle-barred bike each morning at 6 a.m. in whatever weather the Board of Education deemed not detrimental for bus travel. And not being a skilled 'biker' as it were, I spent most of my time on the frail - and sometimes frosty - sidewalks avoiding people, dogs, and their leashes. as well as the cars driven by sleepy people, who couldn't care less about students on 10-speeds at 6 a.m. What made me look the most hysterical and ridiculous was the way I 'carried' my bag. For whatever reason, I did not like backpacks during middle and high school. I can't give a good reason why; I simply didn't want to have one. Instead, I carried a duffel bag, a big you-can-fit-all-of-your-books-in-it duffel bag. How does one carry such a bag when venturing to school? Not on one's back lest one break one's back at the age of 15. No, I 'fastened' the bag to the right handlebar and subsequently attempted to wobble the bike the 1.4 miles to the high school.

Of all the mornings I rode to school, I think I can choose a worst. I can give you no date apart from the fact that it was during high school, meaning between August 1991 and June 1995. The rain was falling hard. My mother made the suggestion that I call someone for a ride. Although a good idea, I could think of no 'someone' for whom it wouldn't be an inconvenience. My mother left for work, as she always did, leaving my brother and I to stare into the murky morning. Thinking I had no other choice, I wheeled my bike from the apartment and banged the wheels down the stairs to the front doors of the apartment complex. I 'fastened' my duffel bag to the right handlebar and opened the door. It wasn't raining; it was pouring. But, convinced I had no other choice, I pushed the bike into the rain, sat on the seat, and began pedaling. It would have been better had anything I was wearing been waterproof. But it wasn't. And my book bag? Same issue. Within the first half mile, my hair was as soaked as it had been prior to my post-shower towel drying that morning. By the one mile mark, my socks and school shirt were drenched. I could only imagine my books. And by the time I arrived at school, it looked as though I had driven off a diving board and into the deep end of a pool. I thought about going to my homeroom, but then thought better of it. Having been a nerd in high school, that might have been all the ammunition the other students needed to let loose. Instead, I walked into the office and simply said, 'I can't go to class like this.' Those blessed women agreed and allowed me to call my mother, who contacted someone to take me back to the apartment. I changed and returned to school.

It continued to rain all day.

And I had to ride back home...