A Bicycle Built For Who?

My husband recently had the idea of going on a bike ride.
It was one of the few sunny days we've seen in what feels like 12 weeks.   So, we packed up the water bottles, cell phones, keys, garage door opener, jackets and sunglasses.  

It was a lovely ride up steep hills, in and out of traffic, around rollerbladers and dodging the occasional unleashed canine.    We took a trip on the Kent Trails.    The trees are just starting to fill in, but still have empty spots here and there.  So the sun kept peeking in and out of the trees, blinding me periodically like some strobe light trying to send me into nature-induced seizures.

Panting, sweating and squinting, I made it to a resting point, where hubby allowed me to rest for 45 seconds, and then we headed back up the path toward home.  

I do have to ask the bicycle manufacturers who designed the seats on those contraptions.   I don't know about yours, but my seat has managed to find places on me that my doctor has yet to reach!    What makes me laugh is that mine is cushioned.  Who would know?   As soon as I put my fat seat on the bicycle's tiny seat, it feels like I am trying to hatch a brick egg.  

Blissfully, the ride was finally over.  I had bumped and bounced over every sidewalk crack and pothole in the county, ending up in our driveway and limping my way back into the garage.   Glaring at my beloved, I simply grabbed my hind quarters and announced "My butt hurts."