I’ve been cycling for a lifetime but I’m not a cyclist. I don’t own any spandex or a shiny jersey, I don’t have a helmet or fancy gloves and my bike isn’t for exercise. A lot of the same can be said about my writing, I’m not a writer, I’m a storyteller.
I hope some day to have the skills to share our journey but I don’t know if they exist. I can write a few carefully crafted words and put up my favorite pictures but they will never convey the endorphin rush pulsing through our bodies on a daily basis.
Pink noses, fingers slightly numb from the cold, lactic acid building in our quads and Iron lungs pressing hard as we laugh and play follow the leader down any road we may come across. We carry no map, there is no itinerary, nothing but huge smiles and laughter following us down deserted island roads.
Every day seems the same yet no two days are alike. Emily finished putting the final coat of wax on Sookie and I was able to paint half of the bowsprit before we both started getting antsy to escapee the fall prison of a damp wet boat. We piled on our warmies and set out on an adventure, destination unknown. I don’t know how to describe the constantly varying scenery combined with the wind in my hair and the ever present island smells that change as often as the light with each bend in the long and winding road. Our bikes may carry us down each hard earned mile but its our bodes that do all the work. Hard labor is good for the mind body and soul, simple repetitive tasks such as turning the pedals frees the mind of everything but the present.
Emily is small and timid, insecure and afraid of everything in this world but with a little encouragement she will hop onboard and give it her all. Her new bike scares the hell out of her and she screams as much as she laughs. She may not understand it right now but the miles she is putting in on her bike are toughening her up for the next adventure. The mileage is creeping up and with her time in the saddle each new day she is becoming more and more one with the bike. I could push her but I don’t, I pull her with my constant enthusiasm. I laugh and play, bunny hoping over road kill, involuntary whoops sneak out when my back tire slips on wet road debris and I’m always looking for the next hill to coax her up. Down hill is fun but I live for the climb.
I’ve never once asked a single thing of Emily I just do my thing and live and love in every moment of every second of every day. Its hard for her not to want to join in on the fun even if its new and scary, cycling is a premium rush that can’t be bought or sold, it can only be earned.
“Don’t say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream.” ~ Mark Twain