In spite of my age

This morning, as I was riding up the west side highway, a serious biker rode up next to me. It had been happening all morning—I had no idea that before 8am the bike path would be cram- packed with people who all seemed to be training for the Tour de France, whipping by me as if I was pedaling through jello. I thought this guy was going to snidely comment about me taking up too much of the lane or something along those I'm-a-better-biker-than-you lines but no, he just started chatting.

Asked me if I, too, was riding to Albany. Turns out he wasn't either, it was just a good conversation starter. We talked about biking, bike paths, riding up from the west village. He asked if I'd be interested in a free course he was thinking about offering—dry land long boarding which is sort of like standing on a surfboard and paddling only the board would be on wheels. In Union Square Park. Later in the evenings. I laughed on the inside as I couldn't possibly imagine myself doing anything like that, but said that yes, it sounded interesting. He told me he was a photographer, I told him about FLOW and we talk menstruation and politics and woman's rights and history for a bit. It was snappy, fun, interesting, funny, engrossing and I had to work to remember, while making sure not to run into anyone and keeping the conversation going that the friend I was riding with was somewhere behind us.

I stopped abruptly at 125th street, saying I needed to make a call. She caught up, he waved goodbye and my friend and I sat before a few minutes before we turned back home, talking about why on earth he'd be chatting with me all that way.

Could have been he was looking for clients for his new venture. Could be he was glad to see women out riding bikes. Could be he wanted clients.

I threw out that maybe it was because he thought I was cute.

And then, I wished I could have taken it back. Who am I to have said something so ludicrous? Out loud. I'm 46, was flushed and sweaty, wearing yoga pants and a worn-to-shreds t-shirt. Not to mention my ridiculous helmet.

Then again, who knows. Maybe other people think I don't look so bad. Perhaps, in fact, maybe other people think I actually look good.

Who knows.

But it was nice to even entertain that thought for awhile. It's not often I am anonymous, with no history, no backstory, no connections. When a total stranger talks to me for no other reason than that they want to.

I'm still smiling.