I wasn't the only one out tonight on a bicycle. I'm not surprised, really.... The night was gorgeous. Dry. Unlike Louisiana. Just the right temperature to put on a T shirt and have the breeze wick the sweat from your head through your helmet vents. A sky glistening with stars and a route unencumbered by any objective other than the sheer enjoyment of being.
Another cyclist closes in on me, a homie in a black watch cap on a blue Murray mountain bike. A quick wave and a "What's up?" In the distance, three time trialers furiously churn away at their gears. With all of the wet and cold I had taken to the comfort of a dry vehicle for the past few months. I had been missing the wind on my face and the tight ache in my legs, and I didn't even realize it.
For a moment, I was embarrassed by my thrown together commuter bike, with it's array of flashing lights, refectors and kiddie bike handlebars. The British fenders and the gym basket zip tied to a book rack on the back made the whole affair appear to be an agglomeration of disparate parts.
But you know, that's me too. I'm an agglomeration of disparate experiences, from Hong Kong's Cat Street to Pensacola's beaches to Ayers Rock in the Northern Territory. My life has ranged from that of a boy to an artist, to a soldier and sailor, to a father, husband and nurse. I'm still evolving, and so is my life.
A coed pedals towards me, and a white smile flashes, "Good evening!" I wave back and turn for home. I'm comfortable with who I am now, and satisfied with the winding journey it took me to get here. I just need to get back on the bike and ride and enjoy it.
Labels: Bike Journal