Eight years later: The yellow bike is semi-retired

By Reba Hull Campbell

When I made an impulse purchase of a shiny yellow bike eight years ago, I had no idea how much I’d learn from those 30 pounds of metal over the years.

Just to be clear, this isn’t some fancy multi-speed bike that requires special shoes, flashing LED lights and an expensive water bottle. Think Pee Wee Herman on his cruiser not Lance Armstrong speeding through France.

I always liked a bike as much as the next gal when I was growing up. I have a great photo of me and my grandfather as I sat on my first tricycle. As a tween, I loved my pink bike with the banana seat and sissy bar. The last bike I had owned was stolen from my backyard in Washington more than 25 years before. After that, it wasn’t I disliked biking … it just never came up as a mode or transportation or form of exercise.

I impulsively bought the yellow bike eight years ago after spending two afternoons in Greenville riding the Swamp Rabbit Trail on a rented bike that was a perfect fit for my small frame. It stood out among the more high-end racing and mountain bikes. The curves of the slanted center bar screamed girl power, and the seat held me like it was made for me.

I test rode several others but kept coming back to that yellow one. The practical side knew it wasn’t smart to invest in a bike just because I liked the color… like it’s not smart to buy the cute high heels just because you like the color. Both have to fit in order to be used.

I learned from the shop’s owner that this yellow bike’s frame is slightly smaller than a typical woman’s bike. Perfect for someone whose driver’s license fibs that I’m five feet tall. The petite size sealed the deal. I knew that bike was meant for me. Fortunately, the bike fit in my convertible with the top down, so I headed back to Columbia with a huge smile on my face and my new yellow bike wedged into the back seat.

Now, eight years later, my beloved yellow bike is semi-retired as my beach bike after I bought a more practical red gravel bike for in-town and trail riding. A friend lets me safely park the yellow bike in her shed at the beach so I don’t have to tote it back and forth. Over the course of a beach week, I can usually clock 60 – 80 miles. On my recent beach trip, I finally broke down and bought a new seat after years of duct-taping splits in the cover became no longer practical.

Life Lessons from the Yellow Bike

Eight years and several thousand miles later, I’ve loved seeing how my bike lessons have really turned into life lessons.

1 – Don’t avoid the hills. Yes, they require a climb. But life is a climb and, just as with any challenge, there are different ways to approach the hills using gears, pace and speed. I’ve decided there’s no disgrace in having to walk the bike up a particularly long or steep hill. I just start at the bottom with a slow steady pace, deep breaths and an eye on the next few feet in front of me.

2 – Slow down and enjoy the ride. Riding a bike allows a more intimate experience with what’s around me at that moment. I can smell the cut grass longer. I can differentiate the sounds of cicadas, crickets and birds. I stop and experience things I would never have slowed for from a car… ducks crossing a road toward a pond, an alligator sunning on the creek shore, words on historical markers.

I’ve found when riding my bike on the beach, the salt air smells saltier and the crunch of shells under the tires feels crunchier than they do on foot. It's not about speed when riding on the beach. It’s about negotiating around the various types of packed sand and the gullies from the tide or watching the regrets dip in the water for food.

3 – Asking for help is OK. The first time I tried to take the bike somewhere I wedged it in the back of my car. After struggling to get the bike out without getting grease all over the seats, I realized the chain had become dislodged. I had no idea how to re-string the chain onto that complicated looking gear thingie.

A guy unloading his bike asked if I needed help. I quickly told him I was fine. Ten minutes later, I realized I wasn’t fine and didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I forced the bike back into the car and drove to the local bike shop where the mechanic quickly restrung the chain … and patiently showed me how to do it myself next time.

4 – Getting caught in the rain doesn’t have to ruin a ride. The rain started as a gentle drizzle after I’d been riding for about 15 minutes. By the time I arrived back in my driveway, the drizzle had become a downpour. I wasn’t cold and I wasn’t in danger of a lightening strike. I was soaked…but I knew I wouldn’t melt. The bike was wet but it would dry off. So I just enjoyed the sensation of rain blowing in my face, beating down on my helmet and rolling down my back.

5 – Do the hard part first. Ride into the wind and take the hard hills at the beginning. Just like a kid does his homework before watching tv, I found a ride to be much more enjoyable when I work hard and sweat a lot at the beginning. Then I get the downhills and wind at my back on the return trip.

6 – Discover new things in familiar places. I’ve been going to Litchfield Beach all my life and never noticed all the bike trails threading behind trees alongside main roads. What a pleasant surprise it was to learn it’s possible to ride on a paved, safe trail the six miles from Litchfield to Murrells Inlet to enjoy a quiet lunch on the water. That same path also safely takes me to my favorite riding spots – Brookgreen Gardens and Huntington State Park – two gems of our coast!

7 – Explore new places on a bike. It’s really easy to find local bike rentals and bike tours. Last year, we toured Barcelona and Madrid by bike with a guide who could show us city secrets, back alleys and shortcuts we never would have found on foot or from a tour bus (not to mention guides have great restaurant recs). Over the years, I’ve ridden the 20- mile perimeter of the downtown lake in Austin, discovered parts of Detroit I never would have known about, explored the shores of Lake Michigan, biked along the Chattahoochee River path in Columbus, GA, sped down Capitol Hill in Washington, pedaled the path all the way around Central Park and cycled along the edge of the Grand Canyon.

8 –Trust the rack. Once I realized I’d like to travel with my bike, I grudgingly decided to invest in a bike rack. I just never trusted those things.

At the bike store, the sales person battened down the rack’s four straps and clips and positioned the rubber feet on the trunk. She showed me how to place the bike on the rack and strap it in with three … yes just three … buckles and a few bungee cords. I slowly drove the car home with the bike attached certain it would have flown off by the time I arrived in the driveway.

But before long, I was confidently lifting the bike on the rack by myself, strapping it in, bungee cording the wheels, and setting off without so much as a second thought. Not only did I learn to trust the rack, but I also learned to trust my own ability to get the bike locked in safely.

Never would I have imagined 30 pounds of yellow metal could teach me so much and bring so much joy. In eight years, I haven’t looked back (except maybe occasionally to glance through my rear view mirror at my bike on its rack on the trunk of my car).

Reba Hull Campbell is president of The Medway Group. She spends her time working with clients on writing, PR/advocacy planning, media training and staff development. She spends her downtime on her bikes, playing in a band, travelling, writing and reading. Reach Reba at [email protected].