“Those that I am lucky enough to ride with welcome me, encourage me, come back for me, give me a boost and are always there for me at the end of the ride, the finish, my favorite part you’ll remember.”

I’m not going to lie; my favorite part of a bike ride is when it’s over.

Certainly, there are many things I enjoy along the way, like clipping in. I’ve always loved the sound of a bike shoe making solid contact with a clip, the echo , definitive with a touch of authority, like the person doing the clipping means business. Of course, the first time I did it I was terrified of all the things a person might be concerned about being locked into the pedals of a bike. There’s the forgetting to unclip (yes this happens, usually at a stop sign or a red light when lots of people can watch you slowly fall to the ground). Or there’s the coming around a corner, the surface of the road suddenly rising straight up in the air, unable to make the pedals turn fast enough to maintain forward motion and, too slow to get your foot out in time, then the fall. And, of course the full-on crash, sliding across the road solidly attached to your bike. Despite all this I have come to love the whole experience of clipping in and out and in and out over the course of a ride.

The clicking. I also like the clicking I hear as I move the gears through their paces. Click, click, click to gear up for more power. Click, click, click to gear down for an easier stroke. Of course, there is also the dreaded moment when I hear only silence as I press the shift lever on a steep climb, eager to hear the click that will make it possible for me to stay upright. I try again, sometimes a third time before I admit that there are no more clicks, I’m on my own. I should mention here that my only super power related to biking is the ability to go really, really, really slowly up a hill and not fall over. It’s a gift I cherish.

I also like the view from the saddle, so much closer to the world around me than in a car, and at a pace just enough faster than a walk to generate a heightened awareness of all that I pass. I notice more details, see the world more clearly, progressing quickly or more slowly as the spirit moves me.

I’m a slow starter on the bike (or truth to be told in any athletic endeavor). My body seems to be saying – “You’ve got to be kidding” - each time I depart, inferring that sitting down with a good book might be a far better alternative. I persist, and around the 20-minute mark my muscles and lungs give into the effort and begin working with me. I relax into the cadence that is rolling along the flats, climbing and descending the hills. And, speaking of hills, despite my challenges, I really do enjoy them. I like the singular effort of the ascent. Everyone has to engage this effort at their own pace and mine is, as I’ve mentioned, miraculously slow and I revel in this solitary effort. And the descent, well that’s the prize isn’t it, becoming a kid again with the wind in my face and caution loosened enough to experience the thrill.

Then there’s the kit, the Lycra, the leave no prisoners clothing that actually does make a ride a more comfortable experience for the rider, perhaps not, in some cases, for spectators. I try not to see myself in these kits, no looking in the mirror, avoiding reflections in storefronts and absolutely no photos. I once received a jersey in the mail from a high-end Italian cycling manufacturer. I had ordered a medium, which seemed reasonable to me. I opened the package, took out the jersey, and immediately passed it on to my 7-year-old grandson. Enough said.

Lastly, there’s the people, cycling people, people who ride with a passion, people who go long and go hard and record every aspect of it on a whole host of devices to track their longer, faster, harder achievements. I ride in the margins of these folks, but I am happy to call many of them friends. Those that I am lucky enough to ride with welcome me, encourage me, come back for me, give me a boost and are always there for me at the end of the ride, the finish, my favorite part you’ll remember. It’s my favorite part because I did indeed finish. I challenged myself and made it all the way back. I took the best of it and made it all mine. At the end there is the sweetness of time spent with those I love, doing something we all love. Time I will remember because the memory of every ride lives not just in my mind, but in my body and in my spirit.

(One more story for Jimmy, my accidental life coach and cycling buddy, and for my lifetime buddy in all things, Mark.)