I may be the only person you know who could mistakenly agree to a 27 km bike ride because she was under the impression she was headed to someone's house for tea and cake. Conduct a quick inventory of everyone you know. Done? I am the only person. 

I was imagining myself making light conversation with friends of friends, and before I knew it, I had a reflective band strapped to my arm. As I was tying my purse to the handlebars, I realized why I was the only one wearing a skirt and ballet flats. 

It turns out that the Czech town where I went to visit friends for the weekend has an annual bike festival. I heard all about it, but I obviously misunderstood the part of the conversation that implied we would actually take part in it. I caught the comment about tea and cake, but did not realize that it came after the endurance test. 

For Czechs or avid bikers, biking the equivalent of almost 17 miles in one afternoon is like walking from the sitting room to the kitchen or taking a chihuahua for a stroll. For the rest of us, it takes some working up to. Now, let's take into consideration that I cannot remember the last time I rode my bike. I love to bike, but when I dust the cobwebs off of my blue Trek in the spring, I ride it twice around my circle driveway on the first day, and then head inside for a nap. The Czech countryside is not my driveway. 

You will be pleased to know that I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and at no point felt that I was about to die. That is unless you factor in being passed by speeding cars on narrow roads, but that is a different matter altogether. You can hardly ride through a canopy of autumn trees next to a gorgeous lake, watch horses graze in a field, or hoist yourself up the walls of an old church to peek at the mausoleum inside and wish you were somewhere else. 

I held up surprisingly well and only walked my bike up two hills. Then, it was obviously only because everyone else was doing it. Once I found myself at the end, roasting sausage on a stick around a blazing campfire and listening to Czech conversations, I could actually imagine myself consciously volunteering to do it again. As long as there would be tea and cake at the end, of course.