25 May 2004

I have got to get me a bike.

So I've been using the host father's rusty bicycle as opposed to the 200-pound tank/Kiddie Transport/Fred Flintstone car.

His bike is two sizes too big for me and doesn't have brakes, let alone a bell. And the front wheel spokes keep tangling up when I ride, propelling me forward when they decide to malfunction.

So if I have to stop because some bad driver (cough: German) decides to run a red light, I have to hop off the bike, drag one foot (that's all that reaches) on the ground, and brace myself for a possible collision.

Then I have to hoist myself up on the nearest curb so I can actually mount the XL Men's bike, much as one would do with a horse.

And I'm a tall girl.

At least by American standards. (Dutch girls are giants.)

I know all the important swear words in German (and I have to use them only, of course, because I don't have a bell), but the drivers get really offended if I ask if they've been smoking crack.

Apparently that's a "no-no."

They can hit me with their car, but I'd better not make reference to their potential drug problems.

That would just be wrong.

betholindo at 15:31

previous | next