Finding your pure joy...

I was on a slight downhill today on a winding road that twisted its way through a corridor of tall eucalyptus trees when I eased up, let go of my handlebars, sat up and spread my arms like wings as I descended through the forest like a bird.

It happened without me thinking about it, just a moment in which I was transported back to my younger years when riding a bike granted me freedom and at the same time one of my first forms of recreation independent of parents, independent of others, something that could be pursued alone or with friends depending on your mood.

I remember learning to ride. I remember those first pedal strokes in the alley behind our apartment in Tustin, the first crash into the dumpster because I didn't bother learning how to use the brakes. I remember my first trip to the hospital. I remember the first bike I broke sliding into a wall at Fullerton Stadium.

I can remember riding 10-speeds fifty-miles round trip to the beach from Fullerton when I was in high school, riding BMX bikes on the dirt and in the local skate parks during the early '80s.

I took a break from riding in the mid-to-late '80s when I was in the Army and when I surfed a lot. But I got back on the bike around 1990 and really haven't stopped since.

Riding brings me joy. It challenges me and allows me to challenge myself. Unlike surfing or skiing, the riding is always good. I don't have to wait for good surf or snow. I can swing my leg over a bike and hit the road or trails and lose myself in the exertion for as long as I desire. I am not bound by the whims of nature. I am only constrained by the power of my legs, the capacity of my lungs, the pumping of my heart and the strength of my mind to overcome any pain I dish out to myself.

And on occasion, I have a moment like today where I am transported back to where I am lost in the pure joy of riding that I had when I first learned to pedal as a child.