I love to ride my bicycle. This becomes painfully evident when life takes me in another direction and I don’t get to ride for a while. And then, boom, it hits me as soon as I start to pedal my way up a trail. The feel of dirt under my tires inspires me to live, to be. In all my life I don’t think I have found anything that clears my head and relieves me of stress quite like pedaling.

There have been a few people in my past, the unnameables, that thought I loved my bicycle more than I did them. If they are that stupid than they should be where they are. Truth has it I don’t love the bicycle. I buy and sell them too frequently to have any kind of sentimental value attached to them. How could you sell something you love? I know I’ve never sold any of you so where does that leave us.

No, it is not a love of all things metal and shiny that drives me to live this odd little dream that is mine. It’s the ride. It’s the friends, the hooping and hollering, the feel of air beneath my tires, and of course, the feeling of accomplishment that surges when you know you should have died but somehow you kept the rubber side down. All of my friends, at least the real ones that never leave and are always there, are the ones that ride with me. There are few, as in three, who have never ridden a bike with me and are still my friends. The ride bonds, it combines the camaraderie and passion of bicycles into lasting good memories.

So, here’s to the ride, the passion, the love, the dirt. Here’s to life.