I Missed My Bike

Between the end of my trip in September and moving out to Denver, I hadn’t ridden my bike more than a handful of times.  What started out as a genuine need for recovery stretched out into five months of sedentary blah.

For nearly two of those months, my bike and I weren’t even on the same coast.

One of many quiet Denver streets.

They say that smells work like time machines.  A specific smell can give you whiplash as you snap your head around to follow your nose.  My riding gloves, sitting in the bottom of one of my saddlebags, hadn’t been washed since the trip.  Equal parts sweat, sunscreen, and the dry desert heat.  Not exactly pleasant, but surprisingly not quite foul either.  They were always the last things I put on in the morning, and I often had to take them off/on throughout the day to do things like eat, use the bathroom, or put on more sunscreen.  

One of the smelly gloves! Also, a very blown out photo from the Blue River taken in August.

I hadn’t even realized I’d forgotten what the trip felt like.  Putting my gloves on again, wearing bike shorts and hopping in the saddle to explore Denver, it was like I was starting another leg of my trip.  With all day to myself, there was nothing to do but follow the trails and see where they took me.  

For many a bike is a toy that we outgrow as we “mature” into adults.  For some of us though, a bike is transportation, a fitness routine, a lifeline to necessities, and an important tool in navigating our daily lives.  Bikes are like phones or cars if you replaced the toxic dependence on them with joy and adventure.

And I missed that.

Here’s to exploring Denver. Cheers.