Black Hole of Luck Memoir - The Bike Ride

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A few years ago, I lost 70 pounds by dieting and exercise (don't worry about getting jealous, I've gained it all back by now). My main exercise was bicycling. I would take off early on Saturday and Sunday mornings on a riverbed trail in Orange County, California, and ride to the beach and back, 24 miles round trip! I wore sweat pants and a sweatshirt over a bikini top and bike shorts. As the morning warmed up, I would take off the sweats and clip them to my clip rack behind my seat. The weight loss had gone to my head a little, and I enjoyed taking off the sweats and showing off my new thin body.

Well, you know what they say about pride.

There I was riding along the trail. Several people did a double take to watch me ride past on my bike. I thought smugly, “Hey, I’m looking good! I am so hot!” Once a man shouted out, “Excuse me!” I ignored him. I’m married, I thought, I can’t respond to your flirtatious advances. I knew I must have looked hot, because more and more people were turning to look at me. Some were even pointing. Life was good. I looked great.

Suddenly, a man riding the opposite direction than me on the trail, skidded to a stop and turning his bike around started to chase me on the trail shouting, “Hey, lady! Hey, lady! Stop!” I ignored him also, hoping that he would leave me alone and wasn’t some sort of stalker.

I peddled faster to get away. He peddled faster too and called out to me a few more times. "Hey, Lady!" I wondered what kind of sick freak would call someone lady while stalking them. I was convinced he was a sick puppy.

I peddled faster. He did too. Now I was getting worried. Should I scream? Should I skid to a halt, hop off my bike and try to run? Oh my gosh, I didn't think of driving men crazy when I lost all this weight! I'm going to die from beeing TOO hot! I peddled faster sure I was about to die.

His voice rang out again ---
“Lady, really, stop! Your bike’s on fire!”

I looked back behind my seat and sure enough, my bike was on fire. My sweat pants had slipped through the clip rack , and the friction of rubbing against the back tire had started them smoldering. Black smoke billowed from the fabric.

To make matters worse, when I stopped the pants burst into actual flames. The kind gentleman (who was panting like crazy because he'd been chasing me for about a half mile) helped me pull the clothes from the clip and stomped out the flames. It was then that I realized people had not been looking at me, but my smoking behind. I was hot all right, just not in the way I’d imagined!
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