skills...what skills?

Because I am still without a bike, I have been having to ride on the back of Bas' bike. Now for those of you out there who have never had the opportunity to be precariously perched atop the back of someone's bike, I will recount to you the adventure...or rather misadventure.

The bikes in The Netherlands are equipped with a flat area on the back on which one can and does place any number of things including another human being (see picture: this is not us! Usually the man bikes and the girl is riding. yes, men here really do hold their lady's purse like that!)

I have had the privilege of not only learning this strange side-saddle skill, but have had to adopt it as one of my main means of transportation for the past month.

No, it is not comfortable. I believe that since I have an American anatomy then the bike rejects me and inflicts more pain upon me than others...or I haven't quite figured out how to sit properly. Every time I have to ride for more than 10 minutes (it takes 20 minutes to get to work) then I have to "walk off the pain". It's more in my legs than in the butt.

So now here is the good story:

Last week while riding to the Tabernacle (24 hour house of prayer part of YWAM), Bas decided that he would ride as usual utilizing what he calls his "skills". It feels more to me like wreckless biking and you will soon see why.

We were merrily biking along and he was trying to be fast and make every green light possible and then we came upon a street where a large truck was sitting in the middle. It was a narrow, one-way European street (meaning very narrow) and there was what looked like to me about a two feet across space between the truck and the short metal poles that separate the sidewalk from the street. Bas decided that he would bike not slower, but faster and go through the space between the truck and the poles.

I was on the back screaming, "No, no, no, no, NO! But Bas is someone that when you get hyper-emotional, he tunes the emotions out. He had faith in his "skills" and get right on flying.

When we got next to the truck, I let out a girly squeal and pulled my legs in as far as they could go. Well, the space was not so roomy as Bas thought and the bike tipped a bit and he, instead of stopping, began to push with his hand against the side of the truck to push us along. We spit out of the other side of the truck, and he just kept speeding on. I was being all mad and saying, "stop, I need to get off. I'm not sitting on the bike correctly. Stop!" But I guess he heard blah, blah, blah, hyper-emotions because he kept on going, and I had to readjust "mid-flight". We went over a curb and I literally bounced up and came off the bike, landed back on, and was yelping in pain, but Bas kept right on trucking along.

By the time we got to work, I was not scared or mad or in more pain than normal. I had gone through the spectrum of emotions and came back to normal and Bas had missed them all by tuning out the extremes.

Side note: Don't worry, Bas is NOT an insensitive pig. If the situation would have truly been dangerous or painful outside of what is to be expected riding on bouncing metal then he would have acted accordingly. He is a great man who I adore!

Love you all!