The Bike Ride

The familiar smell of freshly cut hay, pungent sagebrush, and the occasional bovine is mingled with the tarry odor of recently poured blacktop. The melodious chirping of a sparrow watching from his wire perch complements the subtle click-click of the chain wrapping continuously around the gears and the rhythmic hum of the tires as the rubber meets the road.

The ticking thrum is interrupted every once in a while as you glide past a field of sprinkler pipe and hear the pst-pst-pst of the rain birds as if they are whispering thousands of secrets. You forgive the little birds for not sharing their confidences because the breeze cooled by the mist they emit is the only reprieve you'll get on this ride until the sun drops behind the mountain. As the zephyr hits the sweat pouring from your pores, the way it chills your feverish skin distracts momentarily from the lactic acid burning in every muscle and pushes from your mind how sore those muscles and your coccyx will be tomorrow.

You're pumping the pedals with strength you didn't realize you had. You tell yourself that there are as many downhills on the way home as there are uphills on the way out. It almost works as consolation until you realize that there are also as many uphills on the way home as there are downhills on the way there. Somehow breaking even just doesn't seem fair. If you can just crest this hill you can coast for a bit.

Despite your new-found strength, you can't seem to pull your own weight without heightened effort. No matter how hard you pedal, every vehicle that approaches easily overtakes your momentum, effortlessly pulling their full load of ton bales. The forceful gust and the hay that flies into your face does little to bolster your confidence that you will ever return home tonight.

Finally, after 13.2 miles, you reach the last impediment, the steep incline of your gravel driveway. Somehow you make it up to the house and collapse on the living room floor. Your energy is completely exhausted. And you've never felt better.

Nothing says summer . . .

like a bicycle modified for two.

Peter and I wanted to continue our routine of a daily bike ride,
but Austin was visiting and we didn't have a bike his size.

So, Peter, ever resourceful, rigged up a new apparatus to
attach to his new bike that would allow Austin to come along.

Sometimes I think Peter is just a little too creative.

The hardcore tandem bikers who passed us, accompanied by a rescue van, told Austin he was brave. I think they were jealous of Peter's homemade version of their bicycles built for two.