Back in the saddle
It was the first pedal stroke, looming there like a question mark over my winter days.
How would my knee feel?
The question had been poking at me since last November, when a surgeon poked his tools into my right knee. I slept through the whole thing, of course, as he did a bit of snipping to trim the meniscus I’d torn while storming up a hill on my bike on a late-autumn ride. Since then sometimes the knee would hurt a bit, but in a different way – probably from the arthritis the surgeon said most people my age have and something the surgery didn’t help.
But how would that knee feel that first ride on my bike? The physical therapy had me on a recumbent bike, indoors, but that’s not the same as riding outside on a trail surface, sitting upright with my weight bearing down on that knee. I’d have to wait for the weather to change before I’d find out the answer.
While I waited I devised a Plan B, an approach to challenges or disappointments that date back to junior high, those dreaded years from ages 12 to 14 when I was even more awkward than most. I had not yet grown into my sizable forehead, had a mouthful of braces, was taller than the boys and had hair that couldn’t decide whether it was curly or straight. Also, it didn’t help that my parents didn’t allow me to wear jeans to school; had I been permitted, most of the other things wouldn’t have been so burdensome.
My Plan B was to find blue pants with pockets and belt loops, an option that would meet the no demin rule while capturing the essence of the hippie clothing that every other student was wearing. I saved babysitting money and found just the right pants, navy blue bell bottom canvas with pockets, a fly zipper and belt loops. I could almost pass.
Since then, Plan B has seldom let me down. Hair never quite rebounded from chemotherapy? Get extensions. Left foot larger than right because of radiation treatment? Go up a size and put an insert in the too-large right shoe.
As the producer and writer of documentaries, I always have a Plan B in my back pocket. If one interview doesn’t come through, I’m ready with the next. The same goes with this column: If the first idea doesn’t pan out, I’ll try the backup.
My cycling is so important, I’ve always had a Plan B. Several years ago, I fell down slippery wooden stairs and bruised my tailbone. For weeks, I could barely sit (and had to write my columns lying on my side, in bed). Fearing I’d never be able to sit on a bike, I learned about outdoor ellipticals, so-called striding bikes that would allow me to pedal standing up. My tailbone healed in time for spring weather, and I never needed that plan.
This time, my Plan B sent me researching outdoor recumbent bikes. In case my knee did not heal, I would ride the trail leaning back, pushing the pedals forward and not down. No matter how my knee felt, I would find a way to ride.
And so this week, as the sun warmed the trail, I sat astride my beloved old hybrid bike, buckled my helmet under my chin, and pushed my right leg down on the pedal. Right, left, right, left went my knees as they always have. For seven miles, my right knee worked, and did not say a word. Plan A did just fine.
As Kurt Vonnegut said, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.