Sometimes I get going on my bike and I think I am a superstar athlete who should be able to handle a 30 mile or so ride. All is well until the return trip home, probably with about 7 miles left, when I start to feel a wee bit saddle sore. Still, when I’m fresh on the bike, I pedal like an Armstrong and delight in my speed. Always make time to notice the moments I’m grateful for:
- making it up all the hills without having to get off my bike as feared (even though my lungs were burning)
- discovering that you can ride right next to that lonely campus horse who I’ve only ever before seen while driving down University avenue
- remembering how to connect the arboretum ride and the Capital City Trail
- friendly bikers who make jokes at the stoplight, giving me enough oomph to keep on keeping on
- the unspoken feeling of solidarity between me and the old man who climbed up the Seminole Highway hill together
- The following dialogue with a cute, shirtless man with his white hat turned backwards and a fishing pole in hand
- Man: “Uh, so, like…which way to the Lake?”
- Me: “Lake Wingra?”
- Man: “Uh, I guess so. Sure.”
- Me: “That way,” pointing.
- Man walks off in opposite direction.
- Military Ridge Bike Path going by Park Printing in Verona (probably the only landmark I’d recognize.)
- all the Tom Turkeys in the arboretum