Friday, November 13, 2020


Folded between these bed sheets, my legs are impatient.  They need to move.  They need to unfold.  Tossing and turning, my eyes slowly begin to open.  Stretching in bed as I wake, I can already feel the expansion happening in my lower extremities.  It spreads quickly.  To my heart.  To my mind.  To every single cell in my body.  Ride day mornings have a very sincere feel to them.  So much potentiality.  This unseasonably mild November weather certainly also contributing to my heightened stoke level.  In it’s purest form, riding a bicycle is a very personal act.  Uncontaminated freedom.  Honest.  Out there, exposed to the elements, there is nowhere to hide.  On my own terms.  I don’t want to rush it.  Unorganized.  No conditions.  No agenda.  I never need external motivation to get out and ride.  When I trained to race, each ride had a specific purpose.  Base mileage, intervals, strength, power.  I had specific set goals and objectives and the whole reason was to work towards them.  In so many ways it made my life very simple.  Just follow the prescribed training plan.  No thinking.  Just doing.  Today, I don’t really have any ride goals or objectives.  I’m not getting ready for anything except life itself.  Being.  Pedaling through this world that we are all an integral part of.  No more me against them.  It’s all just us.  One.  Riding regularly literally changes everything in my life.  I’m a better husband.  I’m a better father.  I’m a better employee.  I’m a better friend.  I’m a better writer.  I’m a better human.  Every single thing is enhanced when I ride.  Out of the city.  Into the valley.  My feet dancing on these pedals.  The covered bridge.  Ancient foothill churches.  Morning fog lifting.  Empty fields.  Full heart.  Being on my bike is when I feel most like my true self.  Uninhibited.  Rebellious.  In a society that wants us all to be the same, riding my bike is my way of creatively being unique. 


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