Category: naked bike ride

My Naked Bike Ride Update

naked bike ride

Hollie, as you may have read in the comments on my previous post, offered to help me find a bike. If the universe wants to help me in this silly quest, who am I to ignore it? Hollie did an amazing amount of research in a short time, and came up with several recommendations based on my simple idea. Sadly, some calls to local bike shops did not immediately turn up the bike models in question, but I figured I still had Saturday to find one or something similar.

I had lunch with Ken today, and he reacted with surprise when I mentioned my little joke about him not letting put my naked ass on his bike. I feel a bit guilty for poking fun at him that way, but in my defense, Tracy thought that way, too.

Also, it turns out that Ken is in the process of buying a new bike for his wife, and getting his bike out of mothballs (heh, I said “mothballs“) and getting back into riding. He and I talked about bikes and the models that Hollie had mentioned.

And then, again, as you can see in the comments, Dad turns up with a bike that he rarely uses. For free.

Thanks, Dad!

Remember what I said about the universe wanting to help?

Looks like the universe wants me to do this. Or at least my friends do.

Let’s ride!

Blasting through the walls of repression

naked bike ride, stripclub

So, it’s a running joke between Tracy and I that I’m repressed, at least where it comes to sex and sexual expression.

Oh, sure, I hang out in strip clubs and flirt with the dancers, but when I’m outside the club, in the real world, I fail to act on what should be normal, human, desires. And when I am dating a woman… It’s not all whipped cream and sweaty skin, if you know what I mean.

Slowly, over time, this idea, that I’m repressed, has filtered into my conscious mind. And I know that it’s a problem. And, being who I am, I want to fix the problem. Only… how?

If I visualize the repression as a wall of stone, thick and cold, gray, covered in oily black-green vines… then the way to fight it is to either climb over it, dig under it… or blast through it.

My favorite dancer, “S”, loves being naked. She really and truly finds joy in being naked. She hangs out at “clothing optional” beaches. She wanders around her house naked. And even in the club, she seems more alive and happy when she’s got no clothing on.

…and I’m really comfortable around her. A large part of that, I believe, is the connection that comes from her being comfortable in her own skin.

Then, today, I read about Pedalpalooza, a celebration of bikes and bicycling. More importantly, I read about the World Naked Bike Ride.

I’d read about it last year. There was a nighttime ride and a daytime ride. I’m a voyeur – I looked at the pictures, watched the videos (warning: NSFW). I had forgotten that it was an annual event until I saw it on some blog again today.

Talking to Tracy, I complained. I said, if only I had a bike, that sounds like fun.

Tracy called bullshit on me. She’s my best friend. She knows that I would never actually be naked in public.

Tracy was mostly right. Mostly, like 99.999997% right. I knew it. I didn’t argue with her. Much. The repressed parts of my brain (I’m sure there’s more than one because it seems like they gang up on me) were screaming and wailing at the very thought of being naked in a crowd of strangers while sitting on a bike in the Eastside Industrial District. I’m a 42-year old man, a man who is still overweight, a man whose ancestors were hairy people. I’m one of those guys that people joke about wearing a sweater when I take off my shirt. At a party in Mexico, slender hairless muscular Mexican men were calling me “Danny De Vito”. I don’t have great self-esteem when it comes to being naked.

But… I kinda wanted to try it. More accurately, I wanted to be the kind of guy who would try it. I wanted to be able to tell S., the next time I saw her, that I had, in fact, been naked in public. I wanted to be able to blog about it.

I’ve raced cars, both in formal settings and late night, on the streets. I’ve jumped from airplanes. I’ve walked around dangerous parts of New York City by myself. I have moshed. I’ve had an affair with a married womon and then become friends with the husband.

I can be brave. No, scratch that – I am brave.

So I made a deal with Tracy. First, I needed a bike.

My first thought was asking to borrow a bike. Ken is about my size and has a bike. I’d ask him if I could borrow… No. Tracy and I both cracked ourselves up. Ken is many things, but he’s got, shall we say, cleanliness issues. There is no way he would let me ride his bike while I was naked.

So the deal is this: if I can find a bike that fits my budget before Saturday night, I will ride in the Naked Nighttime Bike Ride, along with all the others. I run, I’m fit. A bike would complement my running nicely.

I allowed Tracy to come up with the consequence if I don’t do this. Her first thought shows that, one, she knows me very well, and, two, she has a subtle and devious mind.

I can’t run for a week.

Running is my therapy and my passion. Not running for a week would be pure psychological torture. It may sound odd to folks who don’t run, but, believe me… I would go crazy. Um… crazier.

And now, I’m blogging about it. I’m putting my reputation on the line. I will do this.

I will blast through the walls of my repression.

Plus I’ll have an awesome story to tell.

OK, time to read up on the tips for first-time naked cyclists… And if you’re wondering, no, riding naked is not illegal.