Reminds Me Why I Ride

Riding is always a pleasure at some level, but sometimes it seems like a lot of slogging through weather and up and down hills and early mornings when your stomach is growling, and then there’s the wind.

But some days remind me why I ride. On an afternoon with nothing but a balmy breeze, just warm enough to be pleasant without overdoing it, out in the sun swooping up and down old familiar hills.

As much as anything else, it’s probably the hills that remind me what I love about getting out on two wheels. These are the hills my legs got used to in high school, and for my legs they’ll always be home turf. Not any particular stretch of road, but the typical rise and fall of the Bay Area foothills, the way a road curves around the shoulder of a hill below some oaks: Whichever road I’m on, the contours are as familiar as the fender of an old favorite car.

Having a chance to saunter through the greenery for a few minutes in the late afternoon, after driving all night and being cooped up doing office work all morning, made this a Good Friday indeed.