on coolness.

Some of the coolest people I’ve met are those who care the least about being cool. They just are who they are, without effort. I would like to think that I am among them, but sometimes I still want to be a part of the cool club.

Exhibit A: The vintage Fuji.

My hunt for a cheap road bike began as something legitimate. Not that it ended up illegitimate, but I will admit some superficiality did contribute to the final purchase, compromising my original intent. I wanted to do a sprint triathlon and my trail bike would have slowed me down. I mentioned this to my friend, 26, who brews kambucha, bought a share in a local community garden, and has his own collection of bikes - all of which are some pretty good qualifications for the cool club.

So, he started sending me Craigslist links.

I passed up a lot of them either because of price or height, including a really awesome, bright red “Lady-Ace” with white handlebars. There was no longer a triathlon in my immediate future, but it was clear having such a bike was among cool criteria.

“Did you check out the Fuji?” He asked, taking a sip of his fair trade,  shade-grown espresso.

I had. It was no Lady-Ace, but it was short enough and affordable.

Later that week, I paid a measly $65 and was on my way, feeling legit as I drove away with a vintage Fuji on the back of The Sat. I put my prescription-free glasses on for good measure.

The next day, I grabbed my helmet and went for a quick jaunt around the neighborhood. Resembling neither cyclist nor hipster, I felt illegitimate; a poser. I returned home and googled some stuff, mostly so I could name drop - not that I’m often in the presence of club members - but, if I needed to I could at least rattle off, “Yeah, it’s got some sweet components. Single-butted steel seat-tube.”

Other than that, it sat in my shed until I joined 26 on a ride.

I waited in my driveway, the Fuji displayed quite nicely. He arrived and looked it over, quickly saying, “You’re going to want to get rid of that kickstand ASAP. Not cool.” And then, “Looks like your seat-tube is single-butted. Nice.” I was pleased. “Yeah, pretty sweet, right?”

We were just about ready to take off when he noticed my tires were flat and the chain needed greasing. Note to self – if you can drop the term “single-butted seat-tube” you should really own chain lube and know when your tires are low on air.

26:  “Dude, you didn’t ride this, did you?”
36:  “Yeah, they’re not that bad, are they?”
26:  “Dude, you’ll bend your wheels! Where’s your tire pump?"

Having neither chain lube or tire pump, we rode over to campus, where they at least had the latter.

"What’s the PSI?" He asked.
"PSI?"
He closed his eyes, shaking his head as he filled the tires.

We left campus and were barely on our way before a gear shift was needed. Other than the fifth grade Ross my parents had purchased at a garage sale, the last time I had attempted a gear shift was a long time ago.

“Dude, you know to change gears on that thing, right?” he asked.
“Yeah…just haven’t yet.”

I peddled slower, hoping to create some distance so he couldn’t watch. I moved the left lever. The chain sounded loud and faulty as it struggled to settle into its new position.

He jerked his head, yelling behind him, “Dude, that sounds terrible. What are you doing?”

I suddenly felt very 36 and uncool. I tried hard not to laugh as I managed to find the correct gear and stop the awful sound. The rest of the ride was uneventful and enjoyable, other than a few gear shifts. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that despite my collection of skinny jeans and scarves, despite chunky glasses and thrifted furniture, despite the vintage Fuji and my love of PBR,

I am 36.
I am divorced.
I have a child, let alone children.

Any of which quickly disqualifies club initiation. In fact, I’m guessing my application was not even considered.

It seems as soon as we settle into one phase, life propels us to the next, often before we’re ready. Single…married…divorced…no kids…babies…school kids…teen-agers…empty nest…grandkids. But, I’m convinced that through each change, space is being created – space for new opportunities to see things that startle us, space to feel things we’ve never felt before, and space to meet people with different points of view.

But, I will still leave room for Converse All Stars.

For those interested in beefing up your application, this might help.