Riding Along

     I have found something that I like better here in London than in Italy, or where I used to live in the States, something uniquely good right here where I live. That's got to be the first step toward settling, doesn't it? 

     Riding my bike. Simple as that.

     It's the same bike I had in the States. But in the States, I wasn't riding it. Where I lived was incredibly hilly, and Lance Armstrong I'm not. So the bike sat in my shed, unrode.

     In Italy, we've got a couple of bikes, which we've ridden a few times over the years. Since we're on the side of a steep hill there, riding down is magical, wind in your hair and all that. Riding up -- or rather walking your bike up -- not as good. Even walking up that hill requires stamina.

     But here, it's gloriously flat. Pretty much all over London. There's a couple of hills in the city but you don't need to go near them if you don't want to.

     And there are bike lanes. And British drivers are as civil as drivers can be -- letting each other in, waving to each other in thanks. I swear. It's a phenomenon. In Italy, all the drivers are saying unspeakable things about each other's mothers all the time.

     It helps that my bike is chained right outside our front door here, so I have to pass it to go anywhere. "Just ride me, it calls to me as I walk past. You know you'll like it."

     And then there's my husband, who can latch onto an idea and never let go like a bull with a red rag. 

     During my five days of work, he must've told me a dozen times that I should ride my bike to the Underground station rather than walk -- that it saved time and it felt good. 

     Finally, on the third day of my five-day stint, I caved. He was right, of course. It did save time. It did feel good. And it was easy to lock it up right outside the station, as he said. 

     Yesterday evening late, when it should've been dark already but wasn't yet, my husband suggested a ride. (All part of his plan). We had a lovely ride around a nearby park in the late evening sun.

     Okay, I'm hooked. So take a bow, and stop there.

     Oh no. He's just warming up for the final assault.

     You see how easy that was, he said, how much fun. 

     Yeah, okay, so?

     Riding a scooter would be easy too. You'd get the hang of it immediately.

     This is his diabolical plan. Me at the wheel of a Vespa in London -- an Italian in England.

     No longer complaining about having no car (an American without a car?), or moaning about how long it takes -- or how expensive it is -- to go anywhere on the Underground, or "tube."

     But I don't know how to drive a Vespa. So I'd have to learn. And I haven't driven on the left side of the road for 23 years, the last time I lived here. And I like being on the back of a Vespa when my husband is driving it, leaving the driving to him.

     But he will not let this go. It would be so good for me. Help me settle. Give me something new to learn. Give me a great way to get around. Fun.

     And think how cute I'd be riding along on a baby blue Vespa...

     Help.