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
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.
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