Bike Ride With Friends Quotes

There is a river running through this city and every time my best friend laughs I want to grab him by the shoulders and shout Grow old with me and never kiss me on the mouth!  I want to spend the next eighty years together, eating Doritos and riding bikes.

Someday I will stop being young and wanting stupid tattoos. There are 7 people in my house. We each have different genders. I cut my hair over the bathroom sink and everything I own has a hole in it. There is a banner in our living room that says “Love Cats Hate Capitalism.” We sit around the kitchen table and argue about the compost pile and Karl Marx and the necessity of violence when The Rev comes. Whatever the fuck The Rev means. Every time my best friend laughs I want to grab him by the shoulders and shout “Grow old with me and never kiss me on the mouth!” I want us to spend the next 80 years together eating Doritos and riding bikes. I want to be Oscar the Grouch. I want him and his girlfriend to be Bert and Ernie. I want us to live on Sesame Street and I will park my trash can on their front stoop and we will be friends every day. If I ever seem grouchy it’s just because I am a little afraid of all that fun. There is a river running through this city I know as well as my own name. It’s the first place I’ve ever called home. I don’t think its poetry to say I’m in love with the water. I don’t think it’s poetry to say I’m in love with the train tracks. I don’t think it’s blasphemy to say I see God in the skyline. There is always cold beer asking to be slurped on back porches. There are always crushed packs of Marlboro’s in my back pockets. I have been wearing the same patched-up shorts for 10 days. Someday I will stop being young and wanting stupid tattoos.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE IN WHICH I AM UNFAZED BY THE MEN WHO DO NOT LOVE ME when the businessman shoulder checks me in the airport, i do not apologize. instead, i write him an elegy on the back of a receipt and tuck it in his hand as i pass through the first class cabin. like a bee, he will die after stinging me. i am twenty-four and have never cried. once, a boy told me he doesn’t “believe in labels” so i embroidered the word chauvinist on the back of his favorite coat. a boy said he liked my hair the other way so i shaved my head instead of my pussy. while the boy isn’t calling back, i learn carpentry, build a desk, write a book at the desk. i taught myself to cum from counting ceiling tiles. the boy says he prefers blondes and i steam clean his clothes with bleach. the boy says i am not marriage material and i put gravel in his pepper grinder. the boy says period sex is disgusting and i slaughter a goat in his living room. the boy does not ask if he can choke me, so i pretend to die while he’s doing it. my mother says this is not the meaning of unfazed. when the boy says i curse too much to be pretty and i tattoo “cunt” on my inner lip, my mother calls this “being very fazed.” but left over from the other universe are hours and hours of waiting for him to kiss me and here, they are just hours. here, they are a bike ride across long island in june. here, they are a novel read in one sitting. here, they are arguments about god or a full night’s sleep. here, i hand an hour to the woman crying outside of the bar. i leave one on my best friend’s front porch, send my mother two in the mail. i do not slice his tires. i do not burn the photos. i do not write the letter. i do not beg. i do not ask for forgiveness. i do not hold my breath while he finishes. the man tells me he does not love me, and he does not love me. the man tells me who he is, and i listen. i have so much beautiful time.

Nolan crossed his arms; he had his gorgeous frowny face on. "Don't you trust me?" Raina looked at him incredulously. "Of course I trust you...undoubtedly." She felt her spine stiffen in defiance of her friend’s assumption. She'd like to prove her wrong! A slow sexy grin tugged at his lips. "Then take a ride on my bike, Aelan.

Before she leaves, my new friend tells me to look out of the big picture window at the parking lot. "See that purple Harley out there—that big gorgeous one? That's mine. I used to ride behind my husband, and never took the road on my own. Then after the kids were grown, I put my foot down. It was hard, but we finally got to be partners. Now he says he likes it better this way. He doesn't have to worry about his bike breaking down or getting a heart attach and totaling us both. I even put 'Ms.' on my license plate—and you should see my grandkids' faces when Grandma rides up on her purple Harley!" On my own again, I look out at the barren sand and tortured rocks of the Badlands, stretching for miles. I've walked there, and I know that, close up, the barren sand reveals layers of pale rose and beige and cream, and the rocks turn out to have intricate womblike openings. Even in the distant cliffs, caves of rescue appear. What seems to be one thing from a distance is very different close up. I tell you this story because it's the kind of lesson that can be learned only on the road. And also because I've come to believe that, inside, each of us has a purple motorcycle. We have only to discover it—and ride.

Hipster (n.): Yes, you ride a fixed-gear bike and drink single-origin chai from a local specially abled artist’s hand-thrown ceramic mug. Your bi-friend only listens to cassettes, and you just love vintage flats, and your rescue dog is named Cobain. Please just wear your hat and glasses and turned-up pants and defy categorizing. Remember: you will one day be driving a Volvo with toys thrown willy-nilly and Burger King wrappers on the floor, listening to Sade and digging it unironically. Even the freshest kale can go brown and wilt. Cave futurum.

The white neighborhoods of Johannesburg were built on white fear—fear of black crime, fear of black uprisings and reprisals—and as a result virtually every house sits behind a six-foot wall, and on top of that wall is electric wire. Everyone lives in a plush, fancy maximum-security prison. There is no sitting on the front porch, no saying hi to the neighbors, no kids running back and forth between houses. I’d ride my bike around the neighborhood for hours without seeing a single kid. I’d hear them, though. They were all meeting up behind brick walls for playdates I wasn’t invited to. I’d hear people laughing and playing and I’d get off my bike and creep up and peek over the wall and see a bunch of white kids splashing around in someone’s swimming pool. I was like a Peeping Tom, but for friendship. It was only after a year or so that I figured out the key to making black friends in the suburbs: the children of domestics." (from "Born A Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood" by Trevor Noah)

To be environmentally friendly, I’d ride my stationary bike to work. I hope my career works out, because it feels like I'm just spinning my wheels.

Let's go for it," said Rachel. "I can do anything when my best friend's along for the ride!

Here's a note to the parents of addicted children: choose your music carefully. Avoid Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World", from the Polaroid or Kodak or whichever commercial, and the songs "Turn Around" and "Sunrise, Sunset" and - there are thousands more. Avoid Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time," and this one, Eric Clapton's song about his son. Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" sneaked up on me one time. The music doesn't have to be sentimental. Springsteen can be dangerous. John and Yoko. Bjork. Dylan. I become overwhelmed when I hear Nirvana. I want to scream like Kurt Cobain. I want to scream at him. Music isn't all that does it. There are millions of treacherous moments. Driving along Highway 1, I will see a peeling wave. Or I will reach the fork where two roads meet near Rancho Nicasio, where we veered to the left in carpool. A shooting star on a still night at the crest of Olema Hill. With friends, I hear a good joke - one that Nic would appreciate. The kids do something funny or endearing. A story. A worn sweater. A movie. Feeling wind and looking up, riding my bike. A million moments.

Then he neglected tennis and took up bike rides with her and her friends in the late afternoons in the hill towns farther west along the coast. One day, when there was one too many of them to go biking, Oliver turned to me and asked if I minded letting Mario borrow my bike since I wasn’t using it. It threw me back to age six. I shrugged my shoulders, meaning, Go ahead, I couldn’t care less. But no sooner had they left than I scrambled upstairs and began sobbing into my pillow.

Selling your house, giving away possessions, working multiple jobs for a period of time, going back to school and moving in with friends or relatives, sharing a car with your partner and riding your bike more, investing all your savings in a new venture, living on the other side of the world for a year— your friends may not understand, your co-workers may not get it, your extended family may think you’ve lost your mind— that’s okay. Better to receive some odd looks and have a few people roll their eyes than spend your days wondering, What if I did that . . . ? Take that step. Make that leap. Try that new thing. If it helps clarify your ikigai, if it gets you up in the morning, if it’s good for you and the world, do it.

4 The memory was like a knife cutting into him. Slicing deep into him with hate. The Secret. He had been riding his ten-speed with a friend named Terry. They had been taking a run on a bike trail and decided to come back a different way, a way that took them past the Amber Mall. Brian remembered everything in incredible detail. Remembered the time on the bank clock in the mall, flashing 3:31, then the temperature, 82, and the date. All the numbers were part of the memory, all of his life was part of the memory.

Pulling to a stop in front of Aly’s house, I take a deep breath. With a flick of my wrist, I cut the engine and listen to the silence. I’ve sat in this exact spot more times than I can count. In many ways, Aly’s house is like my sanctuary. A place I go when my own home feels like a graveyard. I glance up at the bedroom window of the girl who knows me better than anyone, the only person I let see me cry after Dad died. I won’t let this experiment take that or her away from me. Tonight, I’m going to prove that Aly and I can go back to our normal, easy friendship. Throwing open my door, I trudge up her sidewalk, plant my feet outside her front door, and ring the bell. “Coming!” I step back and see Aly stick her head out of her second-story window. “No problem,” I call back up. “Take your time.” More time to get my head on straight. Aly disappears behind a film of yellow curtain, and I turn to look out at the quiet neighborhood. Up and down the street, the lights blink on, filling the air with a low hum that matches the thrumming of my nerves. Across the street, old Mr. Lawson sits at his usual perch under a gigantic American flag, drinking beer and mumbling to himself. Two little girls ride their bikes around the cul-de-sac, smiling and waving. Just a normal, run-of-the-mill Friday night. Except not. I thrust my hands into my pockets, jiggling the loose change from my Taco Bell run earlier tonight, and grab my pack of Trident. I toss a stick into my mouth and chew furiously. Supposedly, the smell of peppermint can calm your nerves. I grab a second stick and shove it in, too. With the clacking sound of Aly’s shoes approaching the door behind me, I remind myself again about tonight’s mission. All I need is focus. I take another deep breath for good measure and rock back on my heels, ready to greet my best friend. She opens the door, wearing a black dress molded to her skin, and I let the air out in one big huff.

Perovich said that he also liked a regional analogy. “The way I’ve been thinking about it, riding my bike around here, is, You ride by all these pastures and they’ve got these big granite boulders in the middle of them. You’ve got a big boulder sitting thereon this rolling hill. You can’t just go by this boulder. You’ve got to try to push it. So you start rocking it, and you get a bunch of friends, and they start rocking it, and finally it starts moving. And then you realize, Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. That’s what we’re doing as a society. This climate, if it starts rolling, we don’t really know where it will stop.

Children develop self-confidence when they learn simple skills like pulling up a zipper, tying their shoes, or riding a bike. Eventually, that self-confidence evolves and propels them to develop more complex abilities as adults—for instance, writing software, painting murals, or cheering up a disheartened friend.

I drove on into Des Moines and it looked very large and handsome in the afternoon sunshine. The golden dome of the state capitol building gleamed. Every yard was dark with trees. People were out cutting the grass or riding bikes. I could see why strangers came in off the interstate looking for hamburgers and gasoline and stayed forever. There was just something about it that looked friendly and decent and nice. I could live here, I thought, and turned the car for home. It was the strangest thing, but for the first time in a long time I almost felt serene. Index The pagination of this electronic edition does not match the edition from which it was created.

use as few chips as possible, both as a personal challenge and because he did not want to take advantage of his colleague’s largesse. Much of the work was done in the garage of a friend just around the corner, Bill Fernandez, who was still at Homestead High. To lubricate their efforts, they drank large amounts of Cragmont cream soda, riding their bikes to the Sunnyvale

Riding a bike is one of the best ways to explore parts of Finland in summer. The terrain is largely flat, main roads are in good condition and traffic is generally light. Bicycle tours are further facilitated by the liberal camping regulations, excellent cabin accommodation at campgrounds, and the long hours of daylight in June and July. The drawback is this: distances in Finland are vast. It’s best to look at planning shorter explorations in particular areas, and combining cycling with bus and train trips – Finnish buses and trains are very bike-friendly

Just one more, before we get on with our writing,’ said the teacher, turning to a large, friendly-looking boy with cropped hair and large ears. ‘Scott’s from America, Mr Phinn. All the way from Tennessee. Come along then, Scott, what was your accident?’ ‘Well, I guess the worst accident I had was when I was riding my bike on the sidewalk – ’ ‘We call it “pavement” over here, Scott,’ interrupted the teacher. ‘Oh yeah, pavement, and I came to this slope. I was pedalling so fast I just could not stop. I put on my brakes but I carried on skidding and sliding until I hit one of those great white things in the middle of the road – ’ ‘Bollards,’ said the teacher. ‘Straight up, miss,’ said the boy. ‘I really did.

As a bonding exercise one weekend, Musk, Ambras, a few other employees and friends took off for a bike ride through the Saratoga Gap trail in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Most of the riders had been training and were accustomed to strenuous sessions and the summer’s heat. They set up the mountains at a furious pace. After an hour, Russ Rive, Musk’s cousin, reached the top and proceeded to vomit. Right behind him were the rest of the cyclists. Then, fifteen minutes later, Musk became visible to the group. His face had turned purple, and sweat poured out of him, and he made it to the top. “I always think back to that ride. He wasn’t close to being in the condition needed for it,” Ambras said. “Anyone else would have quit or walked up their bike. As I watched him climb that final hundred feet with suffering all over his face, I thought, That’s Elon. Do or die but don’t give up.

Meanwhile, Trucker and I, through all of this, had been renting that cottage together, on a country estate six miles outside of Bristol. We were paying a tiny rent, as the place was so rundown, with no heating or modern conveniences. But I loved it. The cottage overlooked a huge green valley on one side and had beautiful woodland on the other. We had friends around most nights, held live music parties, and burned wood from the dilapidated shed as heating for the solid-fuel stove. Our newly found army pay was spent on a bar tab in the local pub. We were probably the tenants from hell, as we let the garden fall into disrepair, and burned our way steadily through the wood of the various rotting sheds in the garden. But heh, the landlord was a miserable old sod with a terrible reputation, anyway! When the grass got too long we tried trimming it--but broke both our string trimmers. Instead we torched the garden. This worked a little too well, and we narrowly avoided burning down the whole cottage as the fire spread wildly. What was great about the place was that we could get in and out of Bristol on our 100 cc motorbikes, riding almost all the way on little footpaths through the woods--without ever having to go on any roads. I remember one night, after a fun evening out in town, Trucker and I were riding our motorbikes back home. My exhaust started to malfunction--glowing red, then white hot--before letting out one massive backfire and grinding to a halt. We found some old fence wire in the dark and Trucker towed me all the way home, both of us crying with laughter. From then on my bike would only start by rolling it down the farm track that ran down the steep valley next to our house. If the motorbike hadn’t jump-started by the bottom I would have to push the damn thing two hundred yards up the hill and try again. It was ridiculous, but kept me fit--and Trucker amused. Fun days.

I’ve always been very Type-A, so a friend of mine got me into cycling when I was living in L.A. I lived right on the beach in Santa Monica, where there’s this great bike path in the sand that goes for, I think, 25 miles. I’d go onto the bike path, and I would [go] head down and push it—just red-faced huffing, all the way, pushing it as hard as I could. I would go all the way down to one end of the bike path and back, and then head home, and I’d set my little timer when doing this. . . . “I noticed it was always 43 minutes. That’s what it took me to go as fast as I could on that bike path. But I noticed that, over time, I was starting to feel less psyched about going out on the bike path. Because mentally, when I would think of it, it would feel like pain and hard work. . . . So, then I thought, ‘You know, it’s not cool for me to associate negative stuff with going on the bike ride. Why don’t I just chill? For once, I’m gonna go on the same bike ride, and I’m not going to be a complete snail, but I’ll go at half of my normal pace.’ I got on my bike, and it was just pleasant. “I went on the same bike ride, and I noticed that I was standing up, and I was looking around more. I looked into the ocean, and I saw there were these dolphins jumping in the ocean, and I went down to Marina del Rey, to my turnaround point, and I noticed in Marina del Rey, that there was a pelican that was flying above me. I looked up. I was like, ‘Hey, a pelican!’ and he shit in my mouth. “So, the point is: I had such a nice time. It was purely pleasant. There was no red face, there was no huffing. And when I got back to my usual stopping place, I looked at my watch, and it said 45 minutes. I thought, ‘How the hell could that have been 45 minutes, as opposed to my usual 43? There’s no way.’ But it was right: 45 minutes. That was a profound lesson that changed the way I’ve approached my life ever since. . . . “We could do the math, [but] whatever, 93-something-percent of my huffing and puffing, and all that red face and all that stress was only for an extra 2 minutes. It was basically for nothing. . . . [So,] for life, I think of all of this maximization—getting the maximum dollar out of everything, the maximum out of every second, the maximum out of every minute—you don’t need to stress about any of this stuff. Honestly, that’s been my approach ever since. I do things, but I stop before anything gets stressful. . . . “You notice this internal ‘Argh.’ That’s my cue. I treat that like physical pain. What am I doing? I need to stop doing that thing that hurts. What is that? And, it usually means that I’m just pushing too hard, or doing things that I don’t really want to be doing.

Two fifty-five. It’s go time.” Chris unlocks the doors and gets out and hides behind an oak tree in the yard. My adrenaline is pumping as I hop out of Chris’s car, grab Kitty’s bike out of her trunk, and push it a few houses. Then I set it on the ground and drape myself over it in a dramatic heap. Then I pull out the bottle of fake blood I bought for this very purpose and squirt some on my jeans--old jeans I’ve been planning on giving to Goodwill. As soon as I see Trevor’s car approaching, I start to pretend sob. From behind the tree Chris whispers, “Tone it down a little!” I immediately stop sobbing and start moaning. Trevor’s car pulls up beside me. He rolls down the window. “Lara Jean? Are you okay?” I whimper. “No…I think I might have sprained my ankle. It really hurts. Can you give me a ride home?” I’m willing myself to tear up, but it’s harder to cry on cue than I would have thought. I try to think about sad things--the Titanic, old people with Alzheimer’s, Jamie Fox-Pickle dying--but I can’t focus. Trevor regards me suspiciously. “Why are you riding your bike in this neighborhood?” Oh no, I’m losing him! I start talking fast but not too fast. “It’s not my bike; it’s my little sister’s. She’s friends with Sara Healey. You know, Dan Healey’s little sister? They live over there.” I point to their house. “I was bringing it to her--oh my God, Trevor. Do you not believe me? Are you seriously not going to give me a ride?” Trevor looks around. “Do you swear this isn’t a trick?” Gotcha! “Yes! I swear I don’t have your name, okay? Please just help me up. It really hurts.” “First show me your ankle.” “Trevor! You can’t see a sprained ankle!” I whimper and make a show of trying to stand up, and Trevor finally turns the car off and gets out. He stoops down and pulls me to my feet and I try to make my body heavy. “Be gentle,” I tell him. “See? I told you I didn’t have your name.” Trevor pulls me up by my armpits, and over his shoulder Chris creeps up behind him like a ninja. She dives forward, both hands out, and claps them on his back hard. “I got you!” she screams. Trevor shrieks and drops me, and I narrowly escape falling for real. “Damn it!” he yells. Gleefully Chris says, “You’re done, sucker!” She and I high-five and hug. “Can you guys not celebrate in front of me?” he mutters. Chris holds her hand out. “Now gimme gimme gimme.” Sighing, Trevor shakes his head and says, “I can’t believe I fell for that, Lara Jean.” I pat him on the back. “Sorry, Trevor.” “What if I had had your name?” he asks me. “What would you have done then?” Huh. I never thought of that. I shoot Chris an accusing glare. “Wait a minute! What if he had had my name?” “That was a chance we were willing to take,” she says smoothly.

DESERT SAFARI DUBAI IN SUMMER Desert Safari Dubai is a popular, highly visited, and exciting area for knocking the thrills. It offers a variety of activities and games full of fun and memorable adventures. If you are looking for the best desert safari Dubai experience with thrill, a lot of fun, and ultimate outdoor entertainment, you have come to the right place. Desert Safari Dubai is all this and much more. You might think that Dubai as a desert country will be scorching warm and hot, but when you actually visit you’ll be surprised to discover the climate and weather not just pleasant, but cozy, even during summertime. If you’re visiting Dubai in the summer months (i.e.. the months of July through September) then you should take the evening desert safari. Our highly-trained and experienced driver will pick you up from your hotel and drop you into the vast desert and are joined by other tourists in a small number of jeeps that are 4X4. After traveling for a long distance, the jeeps pull over for a break to refuel and for desert activities such as quad biking. After a refreshing ride, the desert safari will take passengers on an exciting dune bashing crisscross, and when you arrive at the camp in the desert take part in fun activities such as camel rides, and sand-boarding, taking a picture with a falcon. It is also possible to enjoy traditional rituals such as having a Mehndi tattoo or puffing on a Shisha and being enthralled by the belly dancing and the Tanura dance, all taking in the traditional Arabian food. The battle between the massive red dunes and the rolling Land Cruiser is only experienced and appreciated when you are there and taking care of your precious life. The guide on safari keeps you on the edge, yet you’re safe. The thrilling safari will have its supporters screaming and shouting for the next exciting adventure. Experience the desert safari with friends or family members in Dubai’s sprawling and captivating desert. Sand, sun, as well as 4×4, bring thrilling adventures for the entire family and friends. Desert Safari Dubai is something you cannot miss or forget. You will also enjoy the Desert Safari Dubai, which is a never-ending experience. So join us today! We’ll provide you with many deals so you can take advantage of them when they definitely work for you. You can dine in Morning Desert Safari according to your schedule. Evening Desert Safari Deals are perfect for those who love sunsets and enjoy relaxing at dusk. The Overnight Desert Safari is another exciting activity that we offer for night camping lovers. Enjoy the incredible Overnight Desert Safari with morning and evening combo for a lifetime memorable adventure.

Title: Professional Bridesmaid for Hire—w4w—26 (NYC) Post: When all of my friends started getting engaged, I decided to make new friends. So I did—but then they got engaged also, and for what felt like the hundredth time, I was asked to be a bridesmaid. This year alone, I’ve been a bridesmaid 4 times. That’s 4 different chiffon dresses, 4 different bachelorette parties filled with tequila shots and guys in thong underwear twerking way too close to my face, 4 different prewedding pep talks to the bride about how this is the happiest day of her life, and how marriage, probably, is just like riding a bike: a little shaky at first, but then she’ll get the hang of it. Right, she’ll ask as she wipes the mascara-stained tears from her perfectly airbrushed face. Right, I’ll say, though I don’t really know. I only know what I’ve seen and that’s a beautiful-looking bride walking down, down, down the aisle, one two, three, four times so far this year. So let me be there for you this time if: — You don’t have any other girlfriends except your third cousin, twice removed, who is often found sticking her tongue down an empty bottle of red wine. — Your fiancé has an extra groomsman and you’re looking to even things out so your pictures don’t look funny and there’s not one single guy walking down the aisle by himself. — You need someone to take control and make sure bridesmaid #4 buys her dress on time and doesn’t show up 3 hours late the day of the wedding or paint her nails lime green. Bridesmaid skills I’m exceptionally good at: — Holding up the 18 layers of your dress so that you can pee with ease on your wedding day. — Catching the bouquet and then following that moment up with my best Miss America–like “OMG, I can’t believe this” speech. — Doing the electric and the cha-cha slide. — Responding in a timely manner to prewedding email chains created by other bridesmaids and the maid of honor.

If I’d been friends with Hitler as a kid and I had a mini-bike, I would’ve never let him ride it—little Nazi prick.

What children, onelies in particular, need are not vacant or empty comments, but actual successes in whatever they are doing – riding a bike, making a new friend, solving a puzzle - to build their confidence. Individual accomplishments provide the strongest armor in the world beyond home.

I'm 5yrs old, maybe 6. That meant you were already a teenager. You'd not long had your new bike. I'm riding my bike trying to keep up with you and your friends as we go down the lane to the farm. Only I'm lagging behind. I fall off. Hurt myself. Scream. Cut my knee. Luckily you hear me, come racing back to me. Tell me you've got me. You pick me up off the floor, carry me all the way home in your arms. I'm freaking out because you've left your bike in the lane, I'm worried it'll be stolen or damaged, that you'll get in trouble with mum and dad. It was brand new. As we get to our home you tell me. 'It's just a bike, you're my sister and I can't get a new sister'. You've always been my hero brother. You've never let me down, you never let me be alone. I hope one day I can repay in some way all that you've done for me even though you tell me I owe you nothing.

tiny seed of doubt sprouting inside her gut. Could this life-altering affair be nothing more than a one-sided mirage? She couldn’t keep her journalistic instincts from attempting to connect dots. She recalled every possible aversion of her lover’s eyes, each word of affirmation that may not have been as sincere and heartfelt as the previous. And now this. Karina released an audible breath and brought her hand to her head. She felt the sharp edge of her one-quarter-karat, pear-shaped diamond engagement ring, and thought about Reinaldo, her Brazilian husband of the last ten years. There had been some good times … moments she’d always remember. But as she recalled the hikes up Pikes Peak, the mountainous bike rides, and games of pool while drinking a few beers, she admitted that Reinaldo had been nothing more than a friend—a convenient friend at that. But one who had helped her produce two kids, two adorable little rug rats. Would they ever look at Mommy the same way, if they found out who the real Karina was? When they found out. Karina couldn’t let her insecurities question her new path in life—a path she’d ignored far too long. Determined to make this relationship work, her mind sharpened, and she leaned over the side of the bed and snatched her smartphone from the back pocket of her khakis. No sweet text messages. She licked her lips, then scrolled to her contacts and tapped the cell number. “Hi, Karina. Miss me already?” the voice on the other end asked. Karina couldn’t help but smile. “I just wanted to hear your voice again before I packed up my things and strolled back into my old life.” “I know what you mean,” Karina’s lover said. “You don’t have a spouse and two kids,” Karina said with a tone more harsh than she’d intended. “Oh, sorry.” “Not a problem. I get it. I really do.” A wave of emotion overcame Karina. A single tear bubbled out of the corner of her eye and she sniffled. “Are you okay, dear?” “I …” “You can tell me, Karina. We share everything.” “I just wanted our evening together to be special. You mean so much to me … how I see myself. How I see our future.” “I’m so sorry my work got in our way. Just know that you hold a special place in my heart.” Karina could hear sincerity, which warmed her heart. “I love you.” “I love you too, Karina.” Muffled sounds broke Karina’s concentration. Was that another person’s voice? “What was that noise? Where are you?” Tension rippled up her spine. “Oh, I just walked in my door. I’m exhausted, dear. Let’s make plans for early next week. We can both relax and have some fun at my new place. We can talk about our future.” The pressure in Karina’s head eased. They kissed into

Jake flattened the knife against the wall, filling the crevice. It was all he could do to smother a grin. He didn’t know which he’d enjoyed more, spending a couple hours alone with the kids or finding new ways to provoke Meridith. And to think he was getting paid. Maybe once she went back outside, the kids would come down and pretend to play a game at the kitchen bar while they talked. He could hear Meridith talking to them now, asking them about the game they’d supposedly been playing, acting all interested in their activities. If she really cared about them, she wouldn’t be ripping the kids from Summer Place just so she could go back and live happily ever after with her fiancé. And he was pretty sure that’s what she was planning. Their voices grew louder, then Jake saw them all descending the steps. Noelle led the pack, carrying her Uno cards, followed by the boys, then Meridith. Noelle winked on her way past. Little imp. The kids perched at the bar, and he heard the cards being shuffled. Dipping his knife into the mud, Jake sneaked a peek. Meridith was opening the dishwasher. Great. Ben kept turning to look at him, and Jake discreetly shook his head. Even though Meridith faced the other way, no need to be careless. “Noelle, you haven’t said anything about your uncle lately. He hasn’t e-mailed yet?” He felt three pairs of eyes on his back. He hoped Meridith was shelving something. Jake smoothed the mud and turned to gather more, an excuse to appraise the scene. Meridith’s back was turned. He gave the kids a look. “Uh, no, he hasn’t e-mailed.” “Or called or nothing,” Max added. Noelle silently nudged him, and Max gave an exaggerated shrug. What? “Well, let me know when he does. I don’t want to keep pestering you.” “Sure thing,” Noelle said, dealing the cards. Her eyes flickered toward him. “I was thinking we might go for a bike ride this evening,” Meridith said. “Maybe go up to ’Sconset or into town. You all have bikes, right?” “I forgot to tell you,” Noelle said. “I’m going to Lexi’s tonight. I’m spending the night.” “Who’s Lexi?” “A friend from church. You met her mom last week.” A glass clinked as she placed it in the cupboard. “Noelle, I’m not sure how things were . . . before . . . but you have to ask permission for things like this. I don’t even know Lexi, much less her family.” “I know them.” “Have you spent the night before?” “No, but I’ve been to her house tons of times.” He heard a dishwasher rack rolling in, another rolling out, the dishes rattling. “Why don’t we have her family over for dinner one night this week? I could get to know them, and then we’ll see about overnight plans.” “This is ridiculous. They go to our church, and her mom and my mom were friends!” Noelle cast him a look. See? she said with her eyes. Did Meridith think Eva would jeopardize her daughter’s safety? The woman was neurotic. Jake clamped his teeth together before something slipped out. “Just because they go to church doesn’t necessarily make them safe, Noelle. It wouldn’t be responsible to let you spend the night with people I don’t know. You never know what goes on behind closed doors.” “My mom would let me.” The air seemed to vibrate with tension. Jake realized his knife was still, flattened against the wall, and he reached for more mud. Noelle was glaring at Meridith, who’d turned, wielding a spatula. Was she going to blow it? To her credit, the woman drew a deep breath, holding her temper. “Maybe Lexi could stay all night with you instead.” “Well, wouldn’t that pose a problem for her family, since they don’t know you?” Despite his irritation with Meridith, Jake’s lips twitched. Score one for Noelle. “I suppose that would be up to her family.” He heard Noelle’s cards hit the table, her chair screech across the floor as she stood. “Never mind.” She cast Meridith one final glare, then exited through the back door, closing it with a hearty slam.

cooking with mud was rolling around in it until only our eyes weren’t caked with brown sludge. I loved him on our hour-long bike rides when we played Would You Rather until we had to pull off to the side of the road because we were laughing so hard. I loved him through high school when he was the obsession of almost every girl at our school, but he always put me first. I loved him when he became my first boyfriend and showed me what it felt like to be cherished. I loved him over our long-distance relationship when receiving his text messages would make my day. And I love him now as he gets ready to commit his life to another woman. I will love him forever, and no amount of time or varying circumstances are going to change that. Jax is my best friend. He will always hold the other half of my heart in the figurative BFF necklace that we share. He will be my friend forever. I hop onto my bed and lie back as I click my phone screen, pulling up my Favorites list. My thumb hovers over his name. I take a deep breath and touch his name. My heart thrums wildly as his phone rings twice on the other end. His voice comes through my earpiece, and I almost cry from happiness. I can move to New York tomorrow with no regrets because the world is right as long as Jax and I are friends again. “Little Love.” His voice sounds anxious, hesitant. “Hey, mister.” Another rogue tear escapes, but this tear is full of happiness.

Today my friend Julie let me bring her dinner. Her husband, Doug, had two very scary seizures in the last two days, and a zillion tests and scans and appointments with neurologists. They had just come home from the hospital, and they were sitting on the front porch when I drove up, and Lilly, their three-year-old, was riding her big-girl bike on the sidewalk in her pink underpants. It was ninety-four degrees today, and they were exhausted. Being with them made me think about the idea that everything is okay. That idea is cruel in its untruth. The bottom just falls out sometimes, and nobody is exempt. I can’t take away the seizures or tell Lilly that it’s never going to happen again, although I would if I could. But I can be there, and I can feed them, and I can listen to their stories, of funny things the doctors said, and the strange and infuriating things family members invariably say in tense situations. I can sit in silence in the heat and stillness of a sticky June night, knowing that everything is not okay, but that this tiny moment is.

How’d she take it.” Sean thought for a second. “Truthfully? She wasn’t that impressed. She knew her daddy had a plane and she wants a ride. She took it right in stride, like she’d been expecting me to show up any second.” “And you?” Aiden asked. “You take it in stride?” “Aw, hell, it wore me out so bad I fell asleep on her little bed. Slept until the sun was down. After spending about three hours with her—eating her imaginary chicken and broccoli, reading books, picking up toys, talking about bikes and dogs and playmates at school—I was shot. She has these high heels she wears. She took some to school so her friend Jason could wear them, too.” He grumbled. “While I was asleep, she painted my face with magic markers…” Aiden whooped with laughter. “Yeah, you laugh. I’ll turn her loose on you.” “I’d love that,” Aiden said. “When can I meet her?” “Gimme some time, Aiden. I’m way behind the power curve here. I don’t know anything about kids, and there is so much to know. You have no idea.” “She’s just a kid, Sean. Don’t overthink it. Enjoy her.” “Did you know that when a little kid poops, you have to check their little butt to make sure they wiped it clean? Did you know that?” Aiden chuckled. “Yes, Sean, I knew that.” “Where the hell do you learn something like that?” “I dated a woman with a couple of little kids. Haven’t you? Ever dated a single young mother?” Sean was quiet for a moment. “Not really.” “How can you not really date a young mother?” “I’ve gone out with women with kids before, yeah. But I’ve never been around the kids. I have friends with kids, but I never paid attention to that stuff. I’m in way over my head.” “Franci will help you with all that. How is Franci?” “Cautious. I told her I thought we should get married and she told me to slow down—she wants to be sure it’s the right move.” “Bullshit. She wants to be sure you’re in love with her. That you can be a lover and a family man. Don’t you know anything about women?” “Not as much as I thought I did,” Sean admitted. “My little brother the playboy,” Aiden said. “Time to take life a little more seriously, huh? I want to meet her. Rosie. Let me know the minute I can. And I’d love to see Franci again.” “You know, just because Rosie took me in stride doesn’t mean the entire Riordan clan won’t be a little overwhelming for her,” Sean said. “Let’s not throw her in the deep end of the pool, huh?” “Red hair and green eyes, I hear,” Aiden said. “Like Mom and Paddy and half our cousins. That must have been a shock.” “The second I saw her, I knew. Plus, it couldn’t be anyone else’s kid—Franci and I were tight.” He paused. “Till we weren’t.” “Well,

Eton, for all its virtues, seriously lacked girls. (Well, apart from the kitchen girls who we camped out on the roof waiting for night after night.) But beyond that, and the occasional foxy daughter of a teacher, it was a desert. (Talking of foxy daughters, I did desperately fancy the beautiful Lela, who was the daughter of the clarinet teacher. But she ended up marrying one of my best friends from Eton, Tom Amies--and everyone was very envious. Great couple. Anyway, we digress.) As I said, apart from that…it was a desert. All of us wrote to random girls whom we vaguely knew or had maybe met once, but if we were honest, it was all in never-never land. I did meet one quite nice girl who I discovered went to school relatively nearby to Eton. (Well, about thirty miles nearby, that is.) I borrowed a friend’s very old, single-geared, rusty bicycle and headed off one Sunday afternoon to meet this girl. It took me hours and hours to find the school, and the bike became steadily more and more of an epic to ride, not only in terms of steering but also just to pedal, as the rust cogs creaked and ground. But finally I reached the school gates, pouring with sweat. It was a convent school, I found out, run entirely by nuns. Well, at least they should be quite mild-natured and easy to give the slip to, I thought. That was my first mistake. I met the girl as prearranged, and we wandered off down a pretty, country path through the local woods. I was just summoning up the courage to make a move when I heard this whistle, followed by this shriek, from somewhere behind us. I turned to see a nun with an Alsatian, running toward us, shouting. The young girl gave me a look of terror and pleaded with me to run for my life--which I duly did. I managed to escape and had another monster cycle ride back to school, thinking: Flipping Nora, this girl business is proving harder work than I first imagined. But I persevered.

Over the years, I bought a trailer -- and then a cargo bike -- and then a trailer for the cargo bike -- and that's when things got really out of hand. I've moved a full size bed and frame (with a friend riding on top of the bed), a drafting table, a sleeper sofa, my dog, another bicycle and its rider, a load of twelve foot long 2x4s, and half a garden's worth of plants.

The Daring Bicyclist Jim was always trying different things.  On this particular day he decided he wanted to see how fast a person could ride a bicycle before it became too hard to ride. So he asked a friend if he could tie his bike to the bumper of his car as he drove faster and faster.  His friend agreed. Before they got going they agreed on a way to communicate.  Jim would ring the bell on his bicycle once if he wanted to go faster, twice if the speed was good and repeatedly if he wanted to go slower. So the two adventurers took off and things were going pretty well.  The driver got up to over 50 miles per hour and Jim was able to handle that speed, following along on his bike. All of a sudden a shiny red sports car came up from behind.  The driver pulled alongside and revved up his engine as if he wanted to race.  Jim’s friend accepted the challenge and started to speed up.  He went faster and faster and soon forgot all about poor Jim tied to his bumper. A little way down the road, as the cars raced side by side, a policeman with a radar gun sat and watched as they sped past.  The policeman clocked them at 99 miles per hour. Before the policeman started to pursue the speeding cars, he reported in to headquarters on his radio.  “You are not going to believe this,” the policeman said.  “I am about to go after two cars racing down the road doing almost 100 miles per hour and there is this guy on a bicycle riding behind them waving his arms and ringing a bell trying to pass them!

Zandra Rhodes Zandra Rhodes is a British fashion designer who specializes in innovative textile design. Internationally recognized for her glamorous and dramatic style, she was honored by Queen Elizabeth II in 1997 and made a Commander of the British Empire. Currently in high demand by the rich and famous worldwide, Zandra designed many garments for Diana during the nineties. Princess Diana married very young. She was a perfect, unspoiled flower with a strong, generous inner spirit, which she was probably unaware of when she married Prince Charles. She was thrust unprepared into the position of future queen of England. She had to grow up and mature in front of the public eye. That public eye was hard, judgmental, and unforgiving. Her strong inner spirit guided her to do things that normally someone in her position would not do--it would have been suppressed. Diana acted in a very genuine, caring, and natural way. I was bicycling to work in London along the leafy Bayswater Road in very casual working clothes when a huge official limousine passed me. Against the rear window were two beautiful hats; the car was obviously going to Ascot. The two young girls in the car were waving at me (very enthusiastically), one with golden corn-colored hair and the other one blond. They looked exactly like Princess Diana and Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York. I thought, “It cannot be them, they would not be so friendly, casual, and outgoing, and anyway, it’s the wrong side of Kensington Palace, and cars going to Ascot do not come along this road.” I pretended I had not seen them and carried on cycling. A few weeks later, I was fitting the Princess in Kensington Palace and she said to me, “Are you still riding your bike?” “Yes,” I replied. It was not until I left and drove my car out of the palace grounds that I realized the route took me exactly to the Bayswater Road, where I had seen the two waving girls! Princess Diana always tried to make me feel at home when I was fitting her. She would talk about the problems of being recognized: how she came out of her gym in Kensington High Street in the pouring rain and bumped into a famous actor. As he entered the street, he hunched his shoulders and put on dark glasses. Princess Diana said to him, “I hope they disguise you more than they do me!

But I can’t just put Abby over my shoulder and ride off into the sunset, caveman style. Can I? Every fiber of my being screams to do just that, but the complications for both of us would be— Would be what? Overcome in time. Awkward at best but nobody would die. Life would go on. I pause that thought. Vowing to come back to it once I’ve helped Abby off my bike and out of her helmet.

But life is a lot more balanced and varied now. My competitive nature has softened, and my drive and determination are channelled into different pursuits. Projects like these books, my career with Parkrun, and being with friends and family—when we’re allowed—are now more important than setting sporting goals. I’ll always be active, but I no longer feel the need to go out on a five-hour bike ride. My desire to prove something through sport has lessened, but my desire to achieve things beyond sport has increased.

Gisburn forest covers over 8,000 acres of diverse landscapes, ranging from rolling hills to technical single track. These trails are well-maintained and offer a great combination of fast-flowing sections and technical challenges. Whether you're after an easy ride with family and friends, or an adrenaline-filled descent, Gisburn has something for everyone. Its picturesque surroundings make this area a must-visit destination for mountain bikers in the UK.

Then I had one of those odd shifts of focus and looked down at my bike, and my dusty, worn gloves on the handlebars. We were in the greatest place in the world, but what had it taken to get here? Quite a bit. Learning to ride, getting a driver’s license in high school. Acquiring tools, learning to change flat tires and clutch cables. Gaining dirt experience and going to dealerships to shop for the right bike. Installing knobbies and handguards and a skidplate. After years of youthful indigence, moving through a series of jobs that finally allowed you to afford a truck or a bike trailer. Learning to read maps and cross rivers in deep water. Finding helmets and enduro jackets and motocross boots that fit. Getting a passport, paying your bike registration, learning a smattering of useful Spanish.… And living long enough to have friends who were crazy enough to do all these things, as well. People you could count on who’d gone through the same lifetime of motorcycle connections that had brought us to this perfect spot in time. As I put my helmet back on, it occurred to me that you are never more completely the sum of everything you’ve ever been than when you take a slightly difficult motorcycle trip into a strange land. And make it back out again.

It’s possible to have emptied your savings account and be living in your friend’s basement riding your bike everywhere because you can’t afford a car and yet feel like you’re bursting with vitality. It’s also possible to have lots of money in the bank, living in the house you had custom built, going on expensive vacations to exotic places, and yet you’re miserable.

Have fun when moving. Play tennis with a friend. Jog with your dog. Go on a bike ride and explore your surroundings. Have a kayaking trip with a group of friends. The less it feels like exercise, the easier it will be to make it a permanent part of your life.

I grew up in the 80s, a small-town girl with big dreams from a town called Pitt Meadows, just outside of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. I come from a humble home, where it was common to hear, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Which is code for, “don’t say anything unless it’s something agreeable.” AKA, “don’t stir the pot!” Just a mild form of dysfunction for a highly sensitive girl like me. I learned to keep my thoughts inside, as it might not be the popular opinion. My parents were married in 1967, still in love today, which says a lot these days. I was raised, middle class, at a time when technology was in the infant stage. We received our news from television and the newspapers. We had our adventures outside in nature, riding bikes and daily trips to the store where you could buy 1 cent candy still, wearing seat belts wasn’t mandatory and smoking anywhere was considered normal. We had telephones with cords attached to the wall. If we wanted to talk to our friends, we dialled and they answered, without checking to see who was calling first.

She looked at me listlessly. “Kristen, why haven’t you talked to him?” The question surprised me. My best friend hadn’t been my best friend in a long time. We didn’t talk about me or what I was going through. We didn’t really talk about anything. I went back to scrolling through the artist’s album on her phone so I wouldn’t have to look at her. “What’s there to say?” She laughed. It actually startled me it was so sudden, and I stared at her in surprise. “Go home, Kristen.” I blinked at her. “What?” She took her phone from my hands. “Go home. Talk to him. Be with him. Be happy.” I furrowed my brow. “Nothing has changed, Sloan.” She stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t think you’re worth it.” I shifted uncomfortably. “What are you talking about?” “Your mom. All your life she made you feel like you were never good enough. And so you don’t think you’re good enough for Josh either. But you are.” I shook my head. “No. That’s not it, Sloan.” “Yeah. It is.” “Sloan, he doesn’t know what’s best for him. He’s just thinking about right now.” “No. You’re the one who doesn’t know what’s best for you. She ruined you. She spent your whole childhood setting a bar she knew you’d never reach, and now you think you have to be perfect to be good enough for anyone.” We stared at each other. Then Sloan’s chest started to rise and fall in the rapid way that told me a breakdown was coming. I instinctively pulled tissues from a box on the end table just as her eyes started to tear up. “Kristen? Brandon’s accident is my fault.” I was used to this. She lost focus a lot. This time I was glad for the change of subject. “No, Sloan, it wasn’t.” I took the plate from her lap and put it on the coffee table and gathered up her hands. “None of this was your fault.” She bit her lip, the tears falling down her cheeks. “It is. I should have never let him ride that bike. I should have insisted.” I shook my head, scooting closer to her. “No. He was a grown man, Sloan. He was a paramedic. He went on those accident calls—he knew the risks. Don’t you dare put this on yourself.” Her chin quivered. “How can I not? Shouldn’t I have protected him from himself? I loved him. It was my job.

You can’t do a cartwheel? I mean, can you even ride a bike, Harper?” she teased. I handed Ella a mirror. “Finished.” I grabbed my bag and pulled out some of my favorite makeup. “And to answer your question, Tori…sometimes.

taking long rides on his bike,

We started into the tunnel on our bikes, but quickly dismounted once the darkness set in.

(Horses like boys…?) I had to remind myself that I gave up riding before I started eighth grade. I said that because I knew the same tired Jokes were going to roll in soon, about me riding horse-ie’s from the day I was like seven until then.’ ‘I don’t think I could ride now to save my life.’ Jenny said- ‘It’s just like riding a bike you never forget how too.’ ‘How would you know,’ I asked? Jenny said- ‘I still ride from time to time, I just got second place in a jumping competition two weeks ago.’ I whispered- ‘O-oh.’ (On the inside- I was crushed, thinking it okay for you to ride but I can’t. My horse died not long after, I stopped riding her, thinking I didn’t love her anymore. I didn’t want to stop.) I think if she starts making fun of me now, I would bust out crying. And if I cry then I’ll be a BABY! Yet it okay for her to cry to us over stupid boys or her time of the month drama. I could never clear the truth to her: that riding was my favorite thing in this whole wide world. It wasn’t about winning with me, no- it was about having my freedom, my happiness, and my relaxation. The way I could escape from all of them that put me down, back them. I loved it more than boys, more than friends, more than family even. I was the best I could be back then. I was strong then, now I am nothing but a week p*ssy that lets everyone crap on me. I can’t believe that I wanted this life. I loved to be alone in the barn, or out on the fields particularly in the late summer when everything is crunchy and golden, and the plants show off all their wonderful different colors, and it smells of hay, is what made my day complete, racing past all the trees, down the wooded trails, it was more than just jumping her at compassion. We had a bond- I loved brushing my horse down, braiding her main, and being her best friend, feeding her carrots sticks, I loved it all. I gave up my best friends for ones that I can’t always trust. Your horse’s always your trusting best friend. And if I am crying now, it’s not that I am sad, it’s that I am happy. I have to lie…! I am nothing- nothing, but a complete liar, a wide-ranging slut, and a total baby! #- hostage: (Galloping, Groping, Gulping)

Life is like a great bike race, the goal of which is to live one's own Personal Destiny. At the starting line, we are all together, sharing camaraderie and enthusiasm. But, as the race develops, the initial joy gives way to challenges: exhaustion, monotony, doubts as to one's ability. We notice that some friends refuse to accept the challenges -they are still in the race, but only because they cannot stop in the middle of a road. There are many of them. They ride along with the support car, talk among themselves and complete the task. We find ourselves outdistancing them; and then we have to confront solitude, the surprises around unfamiliar curves, problems with the bicycle. We wind up asking ourselves if the effort is worth it. Yes, it is worth it. Don't give up.

The popular girls did things like have coed parties and kiss their boyfriends in sixth grade and wear Esprit and big earrings and read Sweet Valley High. We played games like Store for the Stars where we would take "business meetings" (which consisted of ordering iced teas and bread baskets at Buster's, a local bistro we would ride our bikes to), and we read the Baby-Sitters Club (way less cool) and the only boys we were friends with had no interest in kissing any of us.

Through the years, you’ve released parts of you. Some went into the sewer, others you left at your friends’ houses, some on the sidewalk while riding your bike as a kid. Your body is used to being taken apart by pieces and put back together. Swapping parts is hardwired into human existence. It takes on a much larger role in death.

When others give you advice about your skiing, consider the following: • Listen with an open mind. Half of the time you might think they’re wrong, and half of those times you might be right. That means that the majority of the time, you’ll learn something valuable. • If a coach, instructor, or anyone else tells you something that doesn’t make sense, don’t nod your head as if it does. Ask for another explanation. Get into a dialog about it. But if the person still doesn’t make sense, know when and how to politely move on. • No one other than you can make you a better skier. The best coaches, instructors, and equipment technicians can help, but ultimately, it’s up to you. These words could have been written 30 years ago and been just as true then as they are today. There are other lasting truths about skiing: We ski in places that are beautiful and that many of us would otherwise seldom, if ever, visit. People can learn to ski before they can ride a bike and keep on skiing after they’re too old to ride one. Skiing brings families and friends together. It makes people feel healthy and happy. So don’t forget that the most important reason to ski is that you enjoy the skiing itself, and the most important reason to improve is that you’ll enjoy it more. And if you’re happy when you ski, you must be doing something right.

Learning from Incorrect Information The messages that society sends you are not always accurate. Females often hear that they should be kind, gentle, and sweet, whereas boys learn that they should be tough, strong, and unemotional. These messages can create much self-doubt and low self-esteem when someone doesn’t measure up to the ideal. Often, as a result, he or she develops social anxiety. Joella has two older brothers. When she was younger, she loved to ride her bike, climb trees, and play baseball with them. Because there were no other kids in the neighborhood, they usually let her tag along. When she entered fifth grade, however, her best friend told her that none of the boys would ever like her because she acted like a tomboy. She showed Joella a magazine article that stated that a girl should let boys feel smarter and make them feel more powerful by acting helpless. Even though it didn’t feel right to her, Joella started trying to be “girly.” But she couldn’t help hitting the ball farther and running faster than most boys; and she wanted to do well in the science fair even though she remembered the article advised girls not to. As a result of this conflict, Joella felt very unlikable. When she acted flirty and silly with the other girls, she felt false; but when she played baseball with the boys, she felt like she would never be feminine. She never knew how she should act. Soon, she became anxious in social situations and stopped playing baseball and going out with her female friends.

How a Motorcycle GPS Tracker Can Make Riding Safer and Protect Your Bike Riding a motorcycle is exciting and gives you a sense of freedom. But bike theft is a big problem, and keeping your motorcycle safe is important. A GPS tracker can help you protect your bike and make riding more enjoyable. Let’s see how it works and why it’s a must-have for every rider. What Is a Motorcycle GPS Tracker? A motorcycle GPS tracker is a small device that helps you track your bike’s location using GPS technology. It connects to your phone or computer, so you can always see where your bike is, no matter where you are. How It Helps Prevent Theft 1. Real-Time Tracking If someone steals your bike, a GPS tracker lets you see its location instantly. This makes it easier for you and the police to recover your motorcycle quickly. 2. Instant Alerts Many GPS trackers have special security features: Motion Sensors: If someone moves your bike unexpectedly, you get an alert. Geofencing: You can set a safe area for your bike. If it leaves this zone, you’ll get a notification. These alerts act as an early warning system, helping you stop theft before it happens. 3. Scares Away Thieves Thieves are less likely to steal a bike if they know it has a GPS tracker. It makes their job riskier, so they often avoid such bikes. Other Benefits of a GPS Tracker 1. Saves You Money on Insurance Some insurance companies give discounts if your bike has a GPS tracker. This is because it lowers the risk of theft, making your bike safer to insure. 2. Gives You Peace of Mind You don’t have to constantly worry about your bike when it’s parked. Whether you’re at work, traveling, or stopping for coffee, you’ll know your bike is safe. 3. Improves Your Riding Experience A GPS tracker isn’t just for security. Many trackers have extra features like: Route History: Save and review your rides. Maintenance Alerts: Get reminders for oil changes or battery checks. Trip Sharing: Share your live location with family or friends for safety. How to Choose the Right GPS Tracker When buying a GPS tracker, look for these key features: ✅ Easy to Install: Pick a tracker that’s simple to set up, even if you’re not tech-savvy. ✅ Long Battery Life: A good battery ensures continuous protection. ✅ Instant Alerts: The tracker should send real-time notifications. ✅ Compact and Hidden: A small tracker is harder for thieves to find and remove. Why You Should Get One A motorcycle GPS tracker does more than just prevent theft. It helps you ride without stress, saves you money, and improves your overall experience. Whether you have a sports bike, cruiser, or touring motorcycle, a GPS tracker is a smart investment. Conclusion Adding a GPS tracker to your motorcycle makes riding safer and more enjoyable. It helps keep your bike secure, gives you useful riding data, and provides peace of mind. With affordable and easy-to-use options available, now is the perfect time to get one for your bike

Bike Price in Bangladesh – 2025 Overview Motorcycles are one of the most popular and affordable modes of transport in Bangladesh. With rising demand, bike manufacturers are introducing new models with advanced features at various price ranges. Whether you need a fuel-efficient commuter bike or a high-performance sports model, knowing the bike price in BD helps you make an informed decision. This guide provides an overview of current bike prices, key buying factors, and tips to choose the best model. Latest Bike Prices in Bangladesh (2025) Here are some of the most in-demand bike models and their prices in Bangladesh: Honda Bike Prices Honda Dream 110 – BDT 110,500 Honda CB Shine 125 – BDT 135,000 Honda XBlade 160 – BDT 195,000 Honda CBR 150R – BDT 550,000 Yamaha Bike Prices Yamaha FZS Fi V3 ABS – BDT 272,000 Yamaha MT-15 V2 – BDT 460,000 Yamaha R15 V4 – BDT 608,000 Bajaj Bike Prices Bajaj Platina 100 – BDT 98,500 Bajaj Pulsar 150 – BDT 195,000 Bajaj Dominar 250 – BDT 390,000 (Note: Prices may vary based on location, dealer offers, and stock availability.) Factors Affecting Bike Prices in Bangladesh 1. Government Policies & Taxation Motorcycles above 165cc face higher import duties and taxes, increasing their prices significantly. 2. Brand Reputation & Demand Well-known brands like Honda, Yamaha, and Suzuki offer high-quality bikes, often priced higher than local brands. 3. Engine Capacity & Performance Higher CC (Cubic Capacity) bikes come at a premium due to their greater power, speed, and efficiency. 4. Additional Features & Technology Bikes with ABS braking, digital displays, LED lighting, and fuel injection are priced higher due to their advanced technology. How to Choose the Right Bike in Bangladesh 1. Define Your Usage Needs For daily commuting: Opt for budget-friendly, fuel-efficient models like Honda Livo 110 or Bajaj Platina 100. For highway rides: Choose comfortable long-distance models like Bajaj Dominar 250. For speed & style: Consider performance bikes like Yamaha R15 V4 or Honda CBR 150R. 2. Compare Prices & Specifications Visit trusted websites like newbikebd.com to check updated prices, features, and reviews before buying. 3. Check Mileage & Fuel Efficiency Bikes with higher mileage help save fuel costs in the long run, making them a good investment. 4. Look for Dealer Offers & Discounts Many authorized dealers provide discounts, exchange offers, and free servicing packages to attract buyers. 5. Buy from Authorized Dealers Ensure you buy from an authorized dealer to get an official warranty and quality after-sales service. Conclusion Choosing the right motorcycle in Bangladesh requires considering budget, fuel efficiency, and performance. By understanding the bike price in BD and comparing available models, you can find the best option that fits your needs. For the latest updates on motorcycle prices, reviews, and expert buying guides, visit NewBikeBD – Bangladesh’s top online bike resource.