“A bike is the garden gate that leads out onto the open road.” – Paul Kimmage

“Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race.” – H.G. Wells

Riding through fertile farmland, rays of morning sun still slanting low in the sky. Brilliant red of crepe myrtle framing the farm entry to the left, tall golden-green tobacco fields to the right, then cotton. Ahead, cyclists in line, in rhythm, a serpentine wave of movement hugging the right-hand side of the road at 18 miles per hour, focused tempo, mind and muscle in tune with the beat, the pulse, of the bikes – heart and soul picking out the exhilarating cadence of vital being – alive in every way, breathing in the good gift with gratitude and joy.

Sure the day will be too hot by mid-morning but for now, setting out before eight and in glad company, the conditions feel just about perfect for a twenty-five mile ride.

Eric, K.D., Scott, Johnnie, Mike – then me. My app tells me I shattered my best ever 5-mile split at an average 18.3 mph, and also logged my all-time best 10K.

But mostly we are just riding. Not pushing anything except the threshold of our joy. And there comes a moment, usually about ten miles in, when everything is humming and the shade is still spilling out and splashing all over the place, and we burst through some bend in the road or break in the trees and the vista opens up, unfolds, and there it is, a viewpoint we are going to think about all weekend.

And somebody yells something like “Oh, yeah….” or “There it is!” or “Gotta love this day!” or “That’s North Carolina, baby!” and there will be some whooping from a couple of the riders as we crest a rise.

But from my heart, in my voice and out of my soul all I hear is a quiet, “Thank you…” – DEREK