Many readers know that I am a transplant from St Louis to the west coast of Florida. No, oil is not on our pristine beaches. Keep your fingers crossed and the prayers going!
The move is a daily adjustment. Friends constantly ask, "So, Annie, how do you like living in Florida?". My response is always, "Well, it is different." Daily life now is lived in a beach community not a Midwest urban/suburban setting. Water is e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. Feet from my patio is the
intracoastal waterway, walk a bit and the Gulf of Mexico is at my disposal. Not a bad gig, eh?
To show myself that I am trying to fit into the beach life, a suitable alternate form of transportation was finally found. A few clicks on
Craigslist, $40 in cash, a thirty minute drive to find Dale at his double-wide and I was back in the saddle again. The beach bike was mine.
I am now living at the beach and back on the exact type of bike I learned to ride on Christmas Eve, circa 1957. I don't do gears, I don't need hand brakes. I did luck out and get white walls in the deal, though.
All that was needed was to "beach it up" a bit.
With a wicker basket made in New Hampshire and a cool small turquoise color bell for the handlebar (needed to alert tourists strolling the boardwalk), the bike was looking quite appropriate. (Look closely on the right handle bar for the said bell.)
But, oh
nooooooooooooooooooooooooo, it was too plain for this writer/rider. The basket needed the
Beachy Wreaths touch. With a cluster of shells, silk sea grasses glued to a plastic margarine tub lid tied through the weave with ribbon the basket got it's beach personality.
Now that I have found a literal way to keep myself movin' via the bicycle I am also committed to finding people, activities and ideas to push myself forward emotionally. Pedal, pedal, pedal.
The bike may be metaphoric. Gee, do ya think??
Life at the beach continues. Stay tuned.
