Cycle Freedom

June 16, 2014

Greetings from the saddle,

“It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best….”

Ernest Hemingway

Somewhere in the collections of sepia toned memories scattered among my family there is a picture of me sitting on my first bike.  I am wearing a cowboy hat.  I am smiling. 

You might guess I am smiling because I was wearing a cowboy hat, or because it’s my birthday, or maybe because I was told to smile for the camera.  Fifty some years later, I can tell you exactly why I was smiling.

I have only owned a handful of bicycles in my life, besides the one in the picture, the one with training wheels on it.   There was a Huffy, a Sears Free Spirit, a Schwinn and a Motobecane.  And this other one.

Each one represented something that still resonates with me.  A progressive measure of freedom.  From the first bike I felt it.  I knew that the first one would take me down the sidewalk, maybe around the block.  And it made my heart soar.  And I smiled.

Bicycles led to some of the most adventurous, inspirational, breathtaking moments in my life.   Each bike I had took me a little farther from home, and deeper into those experiences, since every mile that passed put me more on my own.  Those adventures are carved into me, they are a part of my DNA now.

Cycling has led to friendships, some passing, some lifelong.  The company of a partner riding down the road, talking, singing, remembering, creates deep bonds.  The people I have met along the road is the basis for how I feel about humanity as a whole, helped form my attitude toward others, and my philosophy about my role in life.

Bicycles introduced me to tools.  My first connection between man and mechanism was tweaking on the parts of my bike that needed my attention.  It has always been a partnership since then.  Even when I don’t know what I am doing, I feel a sense of competency when I pick up an 8mm open ended wrench.

I have one other bike, my Specialized. It is in the garage right now, waiting for me to release it to its full potential.  Maybe waiting for me to find mine as well.

I have very few possessions I care a lot about, but I love my bicycle.  It was an extravagant purchase, though I stopped thinking about what it cost the moment I rode it for the first time.

For a while it has been suspended from the ceiling of my garage, a minor sin.  I look at it most every morning, fooled myself into admiring it as a piece of art, a striking blend of symmetry and color. 

Yesterday I gave myself a Father’s day gift. I lowered it from its place, topped off the pressure to 110 pounds in each tire, batted away a few cobwebs.  I wheeled it into the sun, listened to that soft click of the freewheel, and felt something in my chest.  As soon as I swung my leg over the saddle, I smiled.

It is a symbiotic connection.  The bike is inanimate without the rider.  It has been invested with energy but that remains dormant until the pedals are turned.  The rider is made into more because of the bicycle; the power in the legs and arms are transformed through the gears and wheels into greater speed, greater distance, and a new perspective.

My bicycle is beautiful.  I admire its lines, the graceful curve of the frame, the rake of the dropped handlebars, the perfect geometry.  I love that it works exactly as it was designed.  The precision of the derailleurs, the exactness of the brakes, the tight responsive feel of the frame as I drive it along the road.

I pointed the front wheel west, and glided out into the fields and trees and past the big white dog and out into the open land.   The road unrolled in front of me like grey ribbon, urging me toward something.  The hum of the tires, barely touching the blacktop, the whir of the spokes through the air, the whistle of the wind past me.  My body working in synchronicity with the machine, a familiar connection that took me back to every other bike I’ve ridden.

And over the handlebars, looking at the road stretching ahead of me, I got the same feeling, the lift, the exhilaration that I felt on that first bike.  And the next.  And the next.

The excitement of freedom.

Not escaping, not running away, just pure joy in going, exploring, seeing, being.  Not separated by the glass of the car or the metal tube of the plane, but in the world I have been destined to be a part of.  Rolling over the contours.

Under my own power, gliding through the beauty put here for all of us.  In it.  Soaking up the sun, breathing in the fresh smell of the growing things, the wind cooling the sweat on my skin, the muscles and lungs and fingers and eyes all meshed with the morning.

Ahhhh.

Hope this finds you smiling,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith