That One Bike Ride, 1970

That One Bike Ride, 1970

*where we took off without water, food, money, a map

*where I are a whole loaf of French Toast and got a huge tummyache

*where after a few miles and a big hill we turned back

*where after those few miles, I began to miss home and got scared

*where I felt the furthest I had ever been from what I knew

*the unknown

I cannot tell you how old I was. It was the 1970s when kids rambled outside unwatched. We were a gaggle of kids with a plan—albeit one very loose, disorganized, not well-thought through plan—to ride our bikes, possibly to Miamisburg. Again, I’m not certain as memory and time have corroded the edges of what may or may not have happened. I believe we took Alex Bell Rd, past Normandy Methodist Church and down a hill. The point is, we entered uncharted territory, left Washington Township, Centerville, our school district. Nothing was recognizable. I do remember a hill going down and feeling sick because before leaving one of the kids’s mother had fed us a send-off breakfast of French Toast and I had availed myself, thinking I would put away 20 or so pieces since I was going away for a looonnng ride. After the hill I was suffering from a tummyache and the sense we were going to get lost, and soon after we turned around and walked our bikes up the hill, and back to the house where I’d gorged on French Toast.

I’m not sure I’ve appreciated French Toast since that time. I rarely eat it anymore (too many carbs!) But there are moments when I recall that ride, that feeling—of going somewhere I’ve never been before and how to navigate the fear and doubt of rising without a map.

Life.