A boy and his bike

Chris Farah Farah's Faucet

Imagine yourself walking innocently down the sidewalk. It's a sunny day. The birds are chirping. The warm wind blows against your skin, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

It's a good day. You breathe in the sweet-scented air through your nose, and exhale slowly from your mouth. You feel good.

Other people are bustling about, enjoying themselves, smiles on their faces. Everything is right with the world. And then you notice something a little strange.

Everyone is looking at you. Not staring, necessarily - just a sidelong glance here or there, keeping track of you out of the corners of their eyes.

Then it hits you. You're naked.

You look around, trying to find a place to hide or something to cover up with. But there's nothing. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing you can do. It's just you, out in the open, completely exposed.

And then you realize the wind isn't so warm anymore. Suddenly it's freezing outside. Which can mean only one thing.

Shrinkage! OK, let's stop right there. I know what you're thinking, and no, this isn't a Naked Mile-run column (although I reserve the right to compose that one at a later date). I'm not talking about an isolated incident - something that happens once a year, when people are feeling a little crazy.

Nope. For all practical purposes, I've walked the streets naked every single day for the past seven months - ever since my senior year of college began.

Calm down! Calm down! Before you run to your windows and pull down the blinds, before you slam your doors and force your children to come inside (after all, young minds could be damaged easily by such a traumatic experience), just relax.

I'm speaking metaphorically here. What, did you really think I'd risk my entire reading public (now about four people) by talking about myself - naked? Bleh. Even I have some standards of taste and decency, for heaven's sake.

My "emotional nudity" stems from something far deeper than just a lack of clothing. Actually, it more has to do with a lack of a place to live. And a lack of a job. And a lack of any kind of idea about my future.

I know, I know. I sound like a commercial for enlisting in the Army Reserves, but I'm serious. For the first time in my life, I have absolutely no idea where I'll be or what I'll be doing at this time next year.

All my friends are busy signing leases, talking about the jobs or internships they'll be making money at this summer. While I'm just, well ... naked. After I graduate, as far as I know, I have nothing.

No job. No home lined up for next year. No certainty about anything.

The smallest decisions are taking on a huge level of importance in this atmosphere of panic. From figuring out what I'm going to eat for dinner, to even worrying about what I'm going to wear in the morning (see, I told you I was being figurative), I just don't know what I'm doing any more. About anything.

Which leaves me with just one feasible option for gaining some kind of control over my life. One last way to find some peace. One last chance to take my life in hand.

My mom and dad are probably hoping I'm going to say something level-headed and practical, like "apply to more businesses," or "compile a list of potential places of residence." Hah! That would make far too much sense.

At a time like this, when everything is slipping away, there's only one last resort for a rational man like myself.

Go for a bike ride. Now, I know riding my bike isn't going to pay my bills. It's not going to find me a job, or put down a deposit on a new apartment. It won't even get me into grad school.

But a good bike ride is the best way to get control over a life in a downward spiral. Period.

You can go anywhere you want on a bike, as long as you have a little time on your hands (and boy, do I). You don't have to stick to the road, as if you were in a car. You can take your bike on almost any kind of trail, sidewalk or path that's ever been invented.

But riding a bike is better than walking, too. True, you can go anywhere on your two feet. But on a bike, you can go there fast. Bikes open up a whole world of epic adventures - traveling to parts of the city you've never been to before, or even hopping on Liberty Street and driving west until you reach the countryside.

Nothing holds you back - no stubborn, dense potential employers. No old-boys' networks you have to break into, or ass-kissing cover letters. No jacket and tie required. Just hop on your bike, and go wherever you damn well please. It's up to you.

Getting lost is even fun on a bike. In a car, getting lost can be scary. Road trips in cars can almost take you too far - you can run out of gas, or get so lost that finding your way home becomes an annoying chore.

But on a bike, you always know you're just one street or corner away from finding your way home. There's something comforting about that. Making a wrong turn in life isn't always so easy to fix.

Maybe at the same time, if you're lucky, you'll see something new on your bike ride. Maybe you'll find a little spot that only you seem to know about. A little nook where you can hide away when the prospects of your future - or lack thereof - get a little overwhelming.

I managed to find a cool little rope swing just on the outskirts of Ann Arbor. It dangles over a large pond, hanging from the branch of a big, gnarled tree. Some of my favorite memories are of riding bikes with my friends to the swing and spending a lazy afternoon flying over the water, trying to make it back to shore without getting wet.

Of course, that didn't always work. I went swinging with my brother one summer afternoon, and we both ended up soaking wet.

He'd been wearing jean shorts when he fell in, so he had to resort to wearing one of his T-shirts - legs through the arm holes, with his belt holding the shirt in place. I was more fortunate - I had jumped off in nothing but my tighty-whiteys (sorry for that image, but at least I wasn't naked), so I was good to go for the ride home.

Memories like that, rope-swing hideaways where no one can find you, and long rides on a warm summer day - all the worries in the world, piled on with all the confusion and insecurity, just couldn't touch any of those things.

When you need to take a little control or find some peace of mind, just take a bike ride. Clothing optional.

- When Chris Farah's not on his bike, you can reach him at cjfarah@umich.edu

04-02-98