The original chorus of course, goes “Don’t You Know That It’s Different for Girls?” which is the real issue these days, as I’ve been trying out a new bike saddle. All the ones I’ve tried so far have been for men, sold to me by sincere guys who keep repeating soulfully how well their seat will cushion the sit bones. No amount of pleading on my part for something that accommodates the Lady Parts seems to get through (indicating to me that in the 21st Century, men STILL don’t know where they are located). In desperation, I’ve gone off the grid to my budding network of female cyclists who have raved about this:
It looks a little gynecological to me, but if it works I’ll get past its appearance. Meanwhile, only distance riding will tell me if it really does the job. I decide to take Lucille up to the George Washington Bridge today (have I mentioned I like to ride in the rain?).
We proceed along the Hudson Greenway passing the beginnings of fall foliage on the path.
The Promenades are always lovely, but we are dissuaded from lingering at the Tennis Courts by the sight of a homeless guy washing up in the bathroom.
This way lie other obstacles, especially in the rain.
But there are some beautiful parts too.
For most biker riders, you could almost hear the record scratch as the needle comes off the LP, signaling the end of a good time. But because of Lucille, I feel a thrill of vindication. We’re right near the Imperial Terminal, where taxis are lined up to meet people coming off the ferries from NJ. And they’re just as happy to see us!
If you’ve never ridden a Brompton, they look like toys. It’s not until you ride one (and pay for it) that you realize they’re brilliant mechanisms specifically designed for convenience and city riding. And one of their best attributes is being able to fit very nicely into the trunk of a taxi.
Lucille promptly shows off the advantages of her tribe. The taxi driver is amazed. And before you know it, we are at our home away from home, BFold.
I pick up Lucille, and we head for home, encountering only one obstruction in the bike lane.
Meanwhile, the bicycle seat has been a success. For cyclists, the search for the perfect bike saddle equates roughly to the search for the Holy Grail, and that goes double for women. I’ll probably tweak the position over time but for now it’s definitely an improvement over what I had.
You know, when I first came into BFold in search of Lucille, I remember a Brompton rider was there getting a flat repaired. He was discussing the cause with Dave at the shop, and he surmised his problem had come from some broken glass he’d run over. At the time, I thought this was the most romantic remark, so urban and cool. I couldn’t believe I was on the verge of joining such a hip club of cyclists in the City. And now I have joined it – really joined it (yes, it was glass). And Lucille has lived up to every expectation and then some. But for all of her flexibility and swank, I’m just as glad that flat didn’t occur at the Little Red Light House. I carry a repair kit with me (and an extra inner tube), but I’ve never used it. I hate to think what a long walk it would have been to hail a taxi.