For the longest time, I felt as though there was something I was missing or was missing in me, something, I was looking for in every eye, every guy, every word, as if, this person really, would be the one I’m seeking and the hollowness inside would disappear. 

Geesh, should have known it was a gad dang bike I was hunting for, would never have thought of that. Two-wheels, that’s it, all it took. And so Rose led to my mountain bike Red, and Red led to my Khaki green Cargo bike Dixie, and gawd help me I’d have more if I could.

Now, I guess you could say I was lookin’ for love in all the wrong places, and certainly, this change did not happen right away, but after going places, farther and farther places, the freedom, the sense of wholeness became soothing, calming, and I stopped looking. 

From March 28th, 2018

Life can get complicated, but through the quiet streets, I rode this morning, to an accompaniment of Cardinals. I saw two raccoons scooting across the road, well, as scooting as adult ‘coons get. I saw two bunnies, one racing alongside me as I made my way through the suburban streets in the dark.

The dawn was still a time off, and to be honest, I had to force myself, but it is always worth it.

Across streets in the daylight would mean my death for what I do in those early hours, zipping across as I do.

To be honest, I really didn’t ride much this winter, just a sprinkling, as the winter was harsh and the snow constant, and dangerous, not worth it for the 40 minutes I have to go.

One day this winter, out of desperation, and maybe to prove something, I rode after a blizzard had stuck, and the only things I encountered where startled plow drivers, as I made my way to work the only way I could, financially.

I live very simply – or try to. Every month, I strive to widdle down my needs, my wants, my desires become more poignant, more or less.

Which came first, the riding or the minimalism? You know, I’m not sure anymore. Truly. They came hand and hand, almost, one came, and then I found the other, perhaps that’s it.

I do remember when I first saw her, at D3’s, upon her jaunty kickstand, her vintage jade, the rusty bits, and neglected chrome, and it was love at first sight. So I asked him, where did she come from?

And so poor thing had had a time of it. Found at a garage sale so long ago, and brought back to loving care by D3, for a friend. She had her for some years before she got sick, and than she went off to the son, who abused her, and eventually there she sat out in the elements, until the Mom swooped in and took her back to D3, saying: I can’t keep her, please make sure she finds a good home.

And that’s where I found her, in the sunshine of spring, and with a minimal cash exchange, she came home with me a few days later, after a much needed overall.

Oh, my Rose set off a thing, I tell ya. I now am the proud owner of 3 bicycles, and only the small space and bank account keep the number down. I have one named Red, and Dixie, and Rose.

I swear, I’d hang them from the ceiling and ride a new one every day, if I could. I would.

I actually now feel sorry for those imprisoned by their automobiles, as I’ve never had my license, see, and therefore have never had the luxury of it, and maybe it kept me grounded. Too grounded?

Originally what deterred me was that Mom said that in order to get my license I’d have to have my Dad teach me. Which was not going to happen easily as my Father and I back in those teen years got along like, well a Cat & Dog, as my angry words clawed back at his bark, the radio got turned up, the volume of his anger with it, and out Mom would come to referee.

What was she thinking?

Well, so I got my beginners license twice, heck, maybe 3x, but let them lapse.

So Rose meant more than just a beautiful vintage ride through the village on a sunny day. She was my first taste of freedom.