why do you ride?

on rediscovering guileless joy and the lake charlotte mini epic

The first time I did it, I had never felt so free. My smile, laughter and sense of pride are all imprinted on my soul. That evening was a defining one in my life. Anything else I did after that was merely an echo of that initial bliss.

My father had gone inside to put the tools away. Furtively, I threw my leg over the saddle. With one foot on my left pedal, I stepped forward lifting my right foot from the ground and onto the other pedal.

Pedal

Pedal

Pedal.

Glide.

I was doing it?

This wasn’t difficult.

The pillows that I imagined bringing from the house to line the walkway were unnecessary. My dad hanging onto the seat was unnecessary too.

For that I’m grateful. My dad’s never owned a bike. Five year old me having only used training wheels was a more experienced rider than he was. With his help things wouldn’t have been as fun. With his help I don’t think I would have been as shocked or satisfied.

I rode all night till it was dark. I rode the next day and the next day and the next day and the ne…