This past Saturday I went bike riding with my dear friend Chickie. The temperature outside was on the cooler side, and the skies were blue. What a great day to be outdoors!

To be honest I felt a little shy about cycling again. I had not been “out” on my trusty old Trek bicycle for over a year. Last year I rode back and forth on the street I live on, but that doesn’t really count as a bike ride. Not for someone like me, who had ridden on organized bike rides of fifty miles or more a day, for over twenty years. About half of those years I rode on week end tours, the other half I was out on my bicycle and camping for a week. For seven years straight I traveled to Canada annually to meet up with friends to once again ride together. We traveled through miles and miles of streets, in big cities and small towns, on our two wheeled locomotives empowered by by what we called “our muscled legs, lungs like a moose, and buns of steel”. We would draft off one another, moving down that road, fast, and like the geese flying in the sky, ride side by side, and put the horses in the front (the strongest riders). I can feel the wind on my face as I sit here and write, remembering those days. It was like sitting on a moving bus if you were lucky enough to be drafting from a middle position. Oh, those were the cycling days!

That illness called cancer, my tongue cancer that had not only dug its way into my tongue, but into my life, curbed my appetite for adventure. I realize now having surgery on my tongue and neck caused me to be more cautious, especially if I felt there could be any possibility of an injury to my face or mouth. And several years back I had a concussion and severe facial “road burn” from a cycling accident. It was the first day of a week long tour in Indiana. A tremendous wind had come up, crashing branches of trees on the roads. My bike’s front tire hit a thick stick and I tumbled off, hitting the concrete road with the right side of my head and face. I hit so hard it cracked my riding helmet. I was sent to ER and was unable to finish the ride. And I have often helped other cyclists that have been injured on rides, because that is what medical people do. It was not only the nurse in me that would cause me to stop and jump off my own bike, but I wanted to help if someone was down and injured. One woman braked too hard and flew over the front of her bike and landed on her face. I stopped to help her. She was unconscious with a bloody nose and a torn upper lip. I was told later after she was taken to the local hospital that the impact had crushed her cheek bones on both sides of her face. I have several friends at the Y who also have ridden for years. Many have broken a hip, or leg, or arm from bike accidents. I don’t want to give the wrong impression…bike riding is fun! But like any active sport injuries can be common.

I think I was beginning to believe my cycling days were over. I was becoming too cautious and did not really want to ride by myself like I often used to do. Then Chickie talked me into riding over at Turkey Run Park here in Louisville. Nice, wide concrete trails for road bikes, level ground, beautiful weather, and Chickie was going to ride, too. How could I refuse? I took my bike to the Y and a friend tested my tires and gears. Everything checked off for safety and I was good to go. The last good ride I had participated in was four years ago with my Y friends and we rode about twenty-five miles. Now it was time to get back in the saddle again!

As soon as I sat my booty on that bicycle seat it all came flowing back to me. It’s true. Once you know how to ride a bike, you always know how to ride a bike. My old cycling theme song, “I Feel Good Now”, immediately started streaming through my mind and I started to sing it out loud. Then I was off and oh, so happy. We passed a few other walkers or cyclists on the trail. Some people walking their dogs, others riding bikes alone or with small groups. For a few minutes we followed a gentleman with a small child riding in front of him. I assumed he was the dad to the little girl. She was only four or five years old, riding a pink bicycle with a matching pink helmet. As we passed them I told the little girl, “What a strong girl you are! Look at you, out here riding and doing a great job!”.

Later, when I returned back to Our Treehouse I realized I, too, was a “strong girl”. I told myself that over and over. I was pulling up an old mantra I used to tell my daughters when they were little girls. “I can encourage myself,” I would say. Being one of the”littles”, they would naturally repeat those helpful, confident words. Though Chickie and I only road seven miles it was a good start to having fun again on a bicycle, enjoying nature and staying physically fit.

It feels good knowing I am a cyclist again. Will I do fifty miles again? Maybe. I know I could with the right training, and with my mind thinking that I can. Strong Girl!

c   Love, Joan