rolling low

For my farewell, the lab had given me a gift certificate for a sports store. I've been wanting inline skates for a long time. Now with my faithful bike approaching retirement with more speed and determination than it descends the steepest cols, I thought this the perfect opportunity. In the end, the store where I bought the skates and the store that was marked on the certificate didn't match, but I couldn't let a good deal pass me by. And the skates are way cool.

When I was a kid, I regularly went ice skating on the frozen carp ponds near where we lived. I was never good at it, but it was fun. The only experience I had on inline skates was one good hour eight years ago in Germany. I had done well buying protection.

This afternoon friends called asking whether I wanted to go with them to a lake, about ten kilometers from Grenoble. They were riding their bikes. I was foolish enough to take my skates. Oh, how painful it was, how difficult. Oh how klutzy I moved, and there was no way of shifting down when the bike path rose to a bridge or something.

At the lake, when we finally made it, I was more exhausted than after the 130-km bike ride yesterday, and completely soaked with sweat. We paid the entrance, dumped our stuff in the grass, hopped into the water – and left half an hour later because it started raining and the sky didn't look like it was gonna stop anytime soon.

For the blisters on my feet and the fatigue in my legs, I dreaded the moment of putting the boots back on, but it wasn't as bad as I had feared. The ride home seemed to go by much quicker than the trip out. With newly found confidence (and skill?), I even elbowed my way through traffic once back on the streets of Grenoble. But I highly doubt that I'll actually use the rollers for commuting in London, as I had imagined in the first fit of excitement after buying them.