Enjoying the Ride
Moving from the only home we'd known in our married life this spring required us to downsize in ways that once would have caused me oceans of anxiety. Certain material goods were so intertwined with my self-identity.
As avid, life-long readers, our bookshelves were overflowing, although our reading has mostly been on a screen for years. We bagged up hundreds of books and spent hours driving around stocking every Little Free Library we could find.
The remnants of my passion for road cycling took up a disproportionate amount of room, an entire closet of spandex and lycra, more extra wheels than a grown man could hold in both hands. And of course, n+1 bikes that I hadn't ridden in an embarrassingly long time. My local bike shop sold everything for me inside of a week on consignment, netting me a laughably small check.
As it turns out, living without being surrounded by dead trees isn't bad. The shelves that once held every Stephen King book ever written now are filled with framed pictures of the grandkids and I think that's a better use. I read just as much as I ever have. That is to say, constantly.
Last week, Wonder Woman and I retreated to one of our favorite places, Damascus, Virginia, a town in Southwest Virginia where the Appalachian Trail follows the sidewalk down the main street and where one of the world's premier rail trails is being reconstructed after extensive damage from Hurricane Helene.
I'm aging less gracefully than my bride. She still runs ultramarathons, kayaks, paddle boards and cycles. I have two artificial knees and a long list of predictable but boring Generation X turns 60 bingo squares filled in. Still, our relationship formed out of a love of doing things together outdoors, so we are forever on the lookout for anything that can accommodate both of us.
The one luxury that she sprung for after selling our house was a new gravel bike. She brought that on our trip and rented an e-bike for me from a local shop. I'd never ridden one before and had no idea what to expect. Our test ride was a 17-mile jaunt along Laurel Creek, from town, along the Creeper Trail to the bridge over the Holston River. Instead of embarrassment or shame (screw that), I felt pure joy being back on a bike. The battery-assisted pedaling still requires one to pedal, so I couldn't just sit there. I was able to get my heart pumping without feeling like it was a near death experience.
By the time I returned the bike to the rental shop, I'd already priced one online. After a couple more days doing research, I ordered a Lectric XPress2 high step commuter with an adjustable fork. When we moved, I contemplated writing about the feeling of not owning a bike for the first time in 25 years. I'm glad I didn't. Writing this celebratory piece feels much better.
There's a certain breed of cyclist who's 100% asshole. Personally, I never got above 90% myself. I judged every bike I saw by the pedals, and on group rides, I would make fun of people who still had the store-installed reflectors stuck in their wheels. My saving grace was that I enjoyed helping new cyclists develop and dedicated a lot of time to helping people train for and complete their first 100 mile rides.
When my new bike gets here today, I will leave the stock pedals installed and I doubt I'll remove any reflectors stuck in my wheels. My yearly mileage output on my bike used to equate to nearly 4 coast to coast trips across the US. That was in another lifetime. The version of me that gets to ride my new bike is a bit heavier with whiter hair and a lot more medical bills. The only thing I can brag about these days is that I still have the ability to get on a damned bicycle, but that's OK. Period. This version of me intends to enjoy the ride, just as much as that old version ever did.
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