Bicycle my Old Friend

Bicycling brings solitude. A solo sport that allows me to reach inside to my own strength, meditating on the rolling of the pedals. Noticing my breathing change with the terrains of the mind. Flying downhill thoughts race without a care and at the same time

watching with more awareness. Slowly uphill the pedaling meets the resistance to push through with the help of the breath. More times

than not the slowness gives the mind permission to wonder to places it has long wanted to explore.

The minds exploration often is the driver to get me on the bike. Up hills slowly move me through the inner journey, down hills blast me into the thrill of the ride. It’s funny how the bike and I flow together; the pedal stroke; the breath; the mind. It’s a precious time to spend with myself to center myself, to prepare myself for the rest of the day. My bicycle, my best friend through thick and thin, takes me places I would have never gone without it.

The bicycle became my best friend when I was five. We stayed together through moves across the globe, through elementary school. Then for years I went my way and lost sight of my friend the bicycle until I fell in love with Seattle. The longest ride, with my bestest friend from New York City to Seattle, we rode together to a new way of life. Over mountains, through the plains, confronting bears, slowly over hills, fast through waterways. A journey we both enjoyed.

When I haven’t bicycled for a while it’s hard for me to get on my bicycle.  To hone the radar that tunes me in to watch the road.  Once a car pulled in front of me, I plunge moving both hands to the breaks squeezing in unison as hard as I can without thinking. The bike goes into a flying summersault, I can’t unscramble from the bike, no choice but to go with the bicycle, holding my head down. On the ground, I watched as the car that slammed on their brakes drives right by.  A woman who saw the near miss came up asking me if I was alright. Not focusing well, I couldn’t think about the question at first, then when I was present enough, I managed to say, “I think so.” 

Looking over my bicycle asking it the same question, “Are you OK.” Closely examining I turn the wheels, jiggling the handle bars, twirling the pedals, she was OK too. What would I ever do without my best friend the bicycle? Life would dull to a cloudy gray, the feeling of the wind on my face would be lost, and the internal me would go dormant. I wouldn’t be myself. Bicycle, my old friend I’d be left behind if you were gone, bicycle my old friend I’d walk alone if you stopped to roll. I will always put my bicycle back together, saving us both from becoming obsolete.

All these memories came back when I was given a book “Sally Jean the Bicycle Queen,” for Christmas.