Memoirous

What, may you ask, am I doing riding in Florida? It is similar to the question my mother asked when she found out I’d ridden across the highway. It sounds like the punchline to a joke—because I wanted to get to the other side. Because I needed to see what was there. It’s what kept me riding way past exhaustion, sometimes into dusk, trying to get home before catching it from my parents. I am 56 years old. Why do I do this? Because bicycling saved my life. I was a solitary child. I can’t tell you why to this either. I simply had a very hard time making friends. And, I can tell you, there were quite a few people I wouldn’t be friends with even if they asked me. I found most people my age disappointing. They didn’t read, or if they did, not the same books as me. I read a lot. When I wasn’t cycling I could be found reading books by the bushel. Again, a solitary activity. If I couldn’t make friends, then I’d at least make peace with myself. Find comfort and solace in my own ...

Bicycling saved my life. I wanted nothing more than to go somewhere. It started early—this obsession to explore. One of my earliest memories is of my father affixing wooden blocks to the pedals of a tricycle so that my feet could reach. I’m sure it was a tricycle passed down, a one-size-fits-all. I eventually out grew the tricycle and into a small two-wheeler with training wheels. I really wanted to be able to ride without the aid of the training wheels. I can actually remember to this day dreaming—or was I scheming, it was perhaps an awake dream—of gravity and the natural puzzle of how a bike, those skinny tires—how does it stay up? It didn’t make sense. Back then the boys my older brother Steve’s age rode Schwinns with turned down handle bars and racing tires. The inventors of the airplane, the Wright brothers, had a bicycle shop in Dayton, Ohio. As a school kid we were taken on field trips to see it. Huffy bikes were manufactured in Dayton. That was another era. Onc...