UPDATE: Bike Owner Fred is Really A Menace

UPDATE

My brother in-law Steve, a serious biker in Indianapolis, tells me the word/name fred has a slang meaning in the world of big time bicycling. Here's the definition from bicycle Source.com:

fred
1) n. a person who spends a lot of money on his bike and clothing, but still can't ride. "What a fred -- too much Lycra and titanium and not enough skill." Synonym for poser. Occasionally called a "barney".

2) n. a person who has a mishmash of old gear, does't care at all about technology or fashion, didn't race or follow racing, etc. Often identified by chainring marks on white calf socks. Used by "serious" roadies to disparage utility cyclists and touring riders, especially after these totally unfashionable "freds" drop the "serious" roadies on hills because the "serious" guys were really posers. This term is from road touring and, according to popular myth, "Fred" was a well-known grumpy old touring rider, who really was named Fred.

Wow! I really am a menace!

Original Story

I am now the proud owner of a bicycle.

It's my first two-wheeler since 1972 and some things have changed since the bicycle was my only mode of transportation.

The bike was a birthday gift from my father in-law and mother in-law who heard tales of me jogging behind my eight year old daughter as she rode around our neighborhood.

(By the way, in case you were wondering I just turned XX years old.)

It was very thoughtful, kind, inspired gift, but they probably felt sorry for Genna because dear OLD dad had to ask her to stop at various points until he could jog back within range.

The big thing that's changed since 1972 is that you have to wear a helmet. Well, I say you HAVE to wear one. We make our child wear a helmet and what kind of example would I be setting if I didn't do the same.

Besides there is a basic truth when it comes to mishaps involving bicycles on the open road: human flesh, bone and gray matter has never won a collision with concrete, black top or asphalt.

My mom paid for the helmet and my in-laws made sure I had a water bottle plus a portable air pump when the tires sag under my weight along with the wheels themselves.

Now they didn't think of everything. I have no clothes pins and baseball cards so you can't really hear the roar of the spokes as I jet down the road.

I've also seen what kids are doing on bikes these days with those X-Games style stunt riding. There are some youngsters down the street from me who have a couple of ramps that they fly off all day and night.

The only way my two wheels are leaving the ground is when I put them on the bike rack on the back of my car.

My mom and dad got me some great bikes over the years until I got my drivers license in 19XX and suddenly didn't need for that quick spin around the neighborhood anymore.

This new one makes up for having that yellow and black Schwinn Stingray three-speed that was stolen from our home when we went to Dairy Queen after dinner one night.

So if you see us on the open road, honk gently. Old man at the controls!