The summer after we lost Samantha I rode my bike.
I rode it thousands of miles.
I felt my heart beat furiously, pounding to beat out of my chest. I took in every wispy breath; my lungs cursing my legs for more oxygen.
I took in my grief and breathed out a hope for solace and peace.
I stood at the top of mountains and realized I was still alive. Every part of my body beat alive; demanded oxygen and water and food and it slowly convinced my sad, tired soul that it was alive too.
I fell in love with my bike.
Seven years later, my mind has forgotten what my soul needed and my relationship with my bike turns into something like this.....
"We have not gone out together in weeks. When you are home, you ignore me. Is it my flat tires? My rusty chain? Is that it?"
"No, no, you're beautiful."
"Well lube my chain and take me out for a ride." I swear this conversation is not as dirty as it sounds.....
And so we go. Seven years later, my ride is still therapeutic but
not as desperate. I now know I am alive and my heart can beat without another but the pounding grounds me to this world.
The air is warm, the view is lovely, my heart beats, my lungs demand oxygen. I
overlook vistas, gaze at the changing sky as it grows from blue to pink and
always, always think of my girl.
And still, seven years later, it is my religion, my solace.
I reach for my pack of orange flavored Goo with an extra shot of
caffeine, I farmer blow into the weeds, wipe my hand on my bike shorts and wish that everyone could experience
what I see, breathe, smell, feel at the top of this mountain.
That's right....biking makes you super posh and a master of the farmer blow.
And this semester, a group of CU Masters of Engineering Students are making
Making WHAT happen??? Part two tomorrow J