Remembering "Awesome"

I had my first good ride of the season yesterday. I finally have a respectable bike rack, and used it to meet up with some friends on the trails. It was cool, overcast and a little breezy. I was both excited to share the trails with my friends who had never been the distance and to feel that delicious, glorious feeling of the wind in my face, legs pumping,  stress receding... and that feeling of letting my cares simply fall away...

When I was a kid, I LOVED riding my bike. I had a hot pink dirt bike, and I rode that thing like it was going out of style. There was an empty field behind our 'hood, and it had beat-down trails from all of the kids doing donuts on the property. There were little jumps, too - I thought they were so huge back then. I'd ride hard and fast and if I was feeling exceptionally dangerous, I'd ride.... wait for it... hands-free!

That pink dirt bike was my ride when I wanted to get out. It was my transportation to visit the sweet older couple on the other side of the hood - he was a stroke survivor and the only thing he could say was, "HOOOOT DOOOOG!" Amazing how those two words can fit virtually any situation given the appropriate inflection. It was also my ticket to running away from home to my Nanny's house one time when I was trying to prove a child's point (I made it about 3/4 of a mile and got scared and headed back home.)

My bike was also my transportation. And the number one cause of 99% of my scars. I rode it to elementary school, crossing a rather busy road and climbing a steep hill. I also rode it to middle school, which also came with a complimentary hill, and all of the joy of being a greasy, awkward, sweaty pre-teen. I managed to get my duffle/book bag stuck in my spokes while pedaling more times than I care to imagine - landing on your face is never a way to successfully nail a dismount. At any rate, it was my way to relative freedom.

When i got into high school, I let go of my love of bicycles. I got my first car - a 1981 yellow Datsun 210 4-door - and I drove that thing literally to its death while I was in college.

And when the Bananamobile died, I had a bike. I rode it to my crappy restaurant job from my little apartment, and tore up fire roads in the national park outside of my college town.
I loved riding those trails. I was dating a total toolbag, but we had fun - and it was hysterical that he once ran from a few wild mustangs. Anyone EVER hear of attack horses?! Yeah, me either.

Fast forward nearly 20 years, and I've been reunited with my love of riding. The Big Guy and I started riding 3 years ago, and it'd literally exhaust us to ride 5 miles. It's something that we've grown to do together, and we've can do it alone - together. The best part is he rides his pace and I ride mine, knowing that he'll be waiting for me at the finish.

It's always good to remember that awesome feeling. It's easy to forget the freedom of a great bike ride when it's been cold and dreary. But 2 seconds in the saddle feels like heaven - well, except for the seat area. Some people think it's a weird/crazy hobby, but I love the challenge of setting and achieving new goals and getting away from phones, people... everything. Even if only for a few hours.