8 | NOVEMBER 24 • 2022

W

ith the irresistible
allure of the
automobile to a
teenage boy, my bicycle spent
a lot of time in my garage
after I turned 16. Even later,
when I went off
to Ann Arbor
for college,
without a car, I
didn’t bring my
bike to school.
I think bicycles
were seen as
“high school,”
which was the ultimate put
down for a “cool college man.”
A few years later, once we
started our family, I found
that the demands of work
and parenting young children
did not leave a lot of time or
opportunity for bike riding.
When I was 35, it was a
challenging year (sounds
like a Sinatra song). Out of
nowhere, I developed severe
back problems, leading to
pain in my legs and back.
Eventually, I had to undergo
surgery to decompress my
spine. My bicycle, waiting
patiently in my garage,
suddenly became a key ally
in my coping with the back
problems that continued to be
a strong presence in my life,

even after two laminectomies.
In addition, I became good
friends with the stationary
bicycles at the JCC.
Riding my bicycle outdoors
began to be a much-favored
form of exercise compared
to a stationary bike going
nowhere slowly. At least I got
to feel the breeze and enjoy
the scenery.
My bicycle rides became a
wonderful respite, a chance
for clearing my head and
feeling the joy of a good
workout. However, this being
Michigan, outdoor biking
was not exactly a year-round
activity.
Meanwhile, back at the
ranch, my kids were being
born and growing up. Which
meant, among many other
things, teaching each of them
how to ride a two-wheeler.
This was not an easy part
of parenting for a guy with
chronic back issues. Holding
onto the back of a bike and
running was not exactly
in my repertoire. I know I
had a lot of help from my
wife and neighborhood
friends. Like many of my
unpleasant memories, I have
blanked most of that out. But
somehow, my kids all learned

to ride a bike, with the benefit
of my cheerleading, if not
much else.
Which leads to my
memories of bicycle trips
with my kids down a dirt
road not far from our home
in Southfield. I have idealized
those outings through my
retrospectoscope. In my
memory, my kids were excited
to ride with Dad on a trip to
the video store (remember
those?) or for a lunch at our
local Coney Island. In reality,
my kids probably griped about
why we were biking when we
could get there in five minutes
by car. But in my memory, we
are sharing a fun adventure
and my kids aren’t kvetching
or arguing with each other or
me.
When we moved to West
Bloomfield in the early
’90s, I discovered the West
Bloomfield walking (and
biking) path, which could be
entered after only a short bike
ride from our house. When
I went east, I often managed
to end up at the ice cream
store where I would justify a
moose tracks cone, based on
the calories I had burned off
in getting there. I also took
many bikes rides to the place
that I still call “Our Last Great
Bargain,” otherwise known as
the West Bloomfield Library.
(Thank you, Ben Franklin!)
And when you add a bike ride
to the outing, well, life just
doesn’t get much better than
that.

A BAD FALL
Now I skip ahead to the most
momentous bicycle ride of
my life. I’m talking about a
bike ride in the park while
I was visiting my son Jon
and his future wife, Alexis,
in Oakland, California. This
was the last day of our trip;

in retrospect, I should have
asked my friends who ski
about the curse of the last
run of the day! Anyway, I was
riding very calmly on a park
bike path, when I turned a
corner and was faced with
someone going the opposite
way, headed right at me. I was
on a rented unfamiliar bike,
and I froze in my seat and fell
hard onto the asphalt.
I’ve had my share of falls,
but I immediately knew that
something felt weird, that I
shouldn’t even try to stand up.
A young woman stopped and
held my hand while someone
else agreed to return my bike
to the rental place nearby.
Another fellow called 911.
In a twist of fate, the kind
woman who stayed with me
turned out to be the daughter
of the woman who owned
Gayle’s chocolates in Royal
Oak, a native Detroiter.
Then I had to make the
most difficult call, the one
to my wife. I told her I was
“hurt pretty badly, but okay,”
whatever I meant by that. She
began to figure out a plan, as
she always does. Fast forward
to an ambulance ride to the
nearest appropriate hospital,
an X-ray which showed a hip
fracture and, later, another
test which showed that I
had osteoporosis of my hips.
After a long night, I had hip
surgery the next day, having
fortuitously been assigned
to an excellent surgeon who
used the newest techniques.
Post-op, we checked into a
hotel which was handicapped-
accessible and four days later,
we somehow flew back home.
I won’t bore you with the
details of my recovery other
than to mention that my wife
is eligible for sainthood. But
this story is about me and
my bike. Not surprisingly to

Jeff London

PURELY COMMENTARY

essay
Me And My Bike,
Part Two