You're Home! You're Home!

I have sat here in the garage peacefully waiting. And waiting.

(If you didn’t see the story "Bikes Having Feelings Too" you should read that first. That explains my wait.) 

I do not fully understand time, nor do I hear anyone does in. But when my friends left without me they took all means for me to judge the relativity of the time. Since then I have been sitting here, leaning against an old dresser, the air slowly leaking from my tires as I sit and wait and the strings of time continue to pass by.   

But this is not about physics. 

This is a celebration of the return of my friends! Those bikes  and pump! All home! So much of our time is spent as we sit and wait for the door to open. So many times the humans simply walk right past us. They climb into those “other” machines and ride away. No wind in their face. Global warming be damned. 

Today we forget all that as they are home, the bikes, the pump, and the riders too! I am overcome with joy as I hear the door open! My bell rings with excitement! I know that now they have returned I have a chance to head out with their butt on my saddle and my pedals turning! There is nothing like that feeling when a hand brushes you on the handlebar, that pump attaches to your valve, and finally your wheels begin to turn, and you move towards the door!

I am to be ridden! The mud awaits! The exhilaration as the air rushes into my tires. The exhilaration of the air pressure as it is fine tuned to just the right setting. Perhaps 8 pounds per square Inch (PSI) for some fresh snow? Maybe 11.5 PSI if we are going dirt today? That PSI can always be adjusted. 

The simple joy of my wheels, full of air, two hands holding me tightly, the Garmin in place with the tires rotating below, pedals being turned in concentric circles. 

I really don’t care how long I sat here, by myself, leaning against that dresser, all by myself, as long as I am to be ridden again. That is my mission, that is what I live for. And now they are home, at last, and my chance to be ridden is back! 

It’s a good day.

A very good day! 

It's Not About the Bike.

An insomnia fueled thought. Beer** with me.

Three hours on a bike seat, in and of itself, is not pleasant. Sitting on this not at all ergonomically anything platform, in tights, and on purpose, what are we thinking? And don't get me started on those seats with the cutout section built for more "comfort". Try one of those, in January, in Minnesota. Chilling and numbing, speaking from experience.

We don’t revel in the joy of that click when our shoes attach to our pedals or shuffle across the coffee shop floor. 

The first squeeze of the brakes is not an occasion to celebrate. That quick shift to a lighter gear to help the legs warm up is not reason to rejoice, it simply means I am not as young as I was yesterday and the yesterdays before that. 

Clearly it is not about the bike. It's not even about going fast upon the bike, although that helps. 

It is about those who are around you, when you drop upon that uncomfortable seat, clip into those pedals, and accelerate. 

Those who surround you in the group are who make the ride. 

It is true the heart rate goes to some crazy number while my, at least perceived, wattage crosses  into the high triple digits. Digits that in reality start with a 1.  And while that is an amazing sensation, it is the  other riders around me, who may be breathing easier or gasping for air, like me, that make this sport what it is. 

It is for this time with them that I pedal. 

They see things along the way I miss, as likely I'm staring at my front wheel continuing the effort to get one more breath into my lungs. 

And vice versa, on the off chance I actually find the energy to lift my head and look around.

They have done amazing things and been on great adventures I'd like to hear about! Perhaps that last Stop Ahead sprint they won in the last meter or their rides in the mountains of Colorado! Their life has been places I have not experienced  until this ride. 

I love to ride my bicycle. Even more, I love to hear the stories of my ride partners, their lives, and adventures. And to share some of my own (thanks for listening or at least looking like you're listening!). 

The bicycle is a tool that makes us all better. It enriches my life every time I ride, but more so when I have the privilege to ride  with others who have lived their life in a manner not (exactly) like my own. 

It's not about the bike.  It's about the journey. The ride. The stories. The conversation, the shared adventure of today's pedal. 

This is why I ride. How about you? 

Now, if I could sleep.  



** "Beer with me." That is intentional. 


With the Fall Riding season around the corner changes like the color in our leaves are approaching. Here is a reflection of the soon to be upon us Fall Riding Season: The Fall Ride Process, really, you do want to kill another 5 minutes of your life, right? 

Bikes Have Feelings Too

It’s hard being a bike. But every time we ask they show up, put us on their back, and carry us wherever we ask. It is this dedication that put me on my emotional roller coaster. A loved one was left behind today. Right there, with those big wheels looking up at me with that “but… but… what about me?” look. 

I had loaded the cross bike and the road bike onto the van for the trip up north. Leaving behind one. I could see the disappointment in his handlebars, and those fat tires, slowly deflating as the garage door closed. 

I heard, in a nearly inaudible whisper, “Have fun my friends.”  

Those words. Echoing in my ears as we drove out of the driveway, as I sat in the drive through to get coffee. They continued rattling around in my head as we headed towards the cabin as I sipped my coffee, once it had cooled some. 

The Fatboy, what a machine. Always putting others first. Selflessness defined. I know in my heart he understands, there just are not the trails for him to enjoy here. The area is good for the cross and has wonderful blacktop for the road machine. But nothing for Fatboy. 

And here we are. Me with 2 of my machines and 1 at home, alone. All friends who’ve served me well. And ole Fatboy, no matter the weather, extreme cold, hot and humid, snow, rain, a trip to Withrow, no matter, he is there for me when I need him. That time my finger dislocated? He was there, he was the one who delivered me to the brewery to wash away the pain, to cool the swelling with my pint glass!  

Ole Fatboy. And now he sits home, in the garage, by himself, no one to check his tire pressure. 

What have I done to my friend? 

I’ll make it up to him. I promise. When I return home, we’ll find some mud! We’ll find some dirt! We’ll poor it on together! This winter, he will be the bike heading out into the weather while his buddies have to sit home and wait for their time. It will be fine. 

What a bike Fatboy is! Maybe I’ll bring home some fresh north woods air for his tires.  

He’d like that. 

A lot. 



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If you tolerated this post, you may also want to waste some additional time on Mr. Smooth where our "hero" puts himself on the line!