For Wilshire Baptist Church
It had been at least two years since I’d been on the bike. I know two years for sure because I lost 2022 to shoulder surgery and 2023 to cancer treatment. How long before that? I just don’t know. But long enough to have the same feeling I had when I started playing saxophone with the Wilshire Winds after a 25-year break: I didn’t realize how much I missed it. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.
It took a while to get ready: knock the dust and spider webs off the bike, air up the flat tires, give it an eyeball inspection, wipe out the helmet. As I got on the bike, I knew a more conscientious rider would have taken it in for a full inspection and service or at least oil it up a little first. But I didn’t. I’d gotten this far and didn’t want any more excuses for delay. Instead, I promised myself to start slow to lessen the harm should a tire go flat or a wheel fall off while in motion. And, I decided to stay within walking distance of home if the bike or my body wasn’t up to it. Oh, and I had my cell phone in my pocket in case I crashed and needed to call 911.
So, I got on the bike, and to be honest, the first 20 to 30 feet were shaky. Literally, as in my arms were shaky, like I was a kid just learning to balance on a bike for the first time. But then I settled in and all was good. I rode slowly down our street to the corner, then turned left for a block and then right down toward Garland’s Central Park. There’s a slight downhill slope on that street and for a moment I forgot my safety promise and let gravity add to my speed. Realizing my mistake, I gently applied the brakes and was pleased to find they worked fine. (Another bit of important maintenance I foolishly neglected in my haste to get going.)
After that, I rode into the park and down the main road to the baseball diamonds, on the sidewalks between the diamonds and concession stands, out of the park a short distance and then back in and past the dog park. I could have turned there and gone straight home, but I was feeling good and backtracked down another park road to add some distance before going home. As I pedaled, I passed two other cyclists going the opposite direction — two men my age or older — one with a cigarette dangling between his lips.
Somewhere along the way I got emotional for a moment as I realized how much I used to ride and how much I missed it and how much time had been lost to injury, disease, complacency and just plain laziness. So I made another promise to myself: to ride at least once a week, no matter the weather or my physical condition, until I no longer can do it safely. When I got home, I traced my route on a map app and found I’d gone two miles. For someone who used to ride 10-20 miles on a regular basis, it wasn’t impressive, but it was a good start.
But only a start. It’s easy to start and then get distracted and stay at that starting level or worse, backslide and have to start over again after more months and years have passed. Getting on with it — ramping up, increasing the effort and growing in the process — is the hard part. I’ve always said the hardest part of cycling is getting off the sofa and out of the house, and my own history confirms that. I checked my notes and the last time I wrote in this space about getting back on the bike was last September – six months ago.
Today I’m talking about cycling but we all know it’s more than that. It’s relationships, projects, hobbies, dreams and aspirations. It’s getting back to doing something that makes you sigh and say, “I didn’t realize how much I missed that. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”