The morning air is crisp, not yet cool. The sun’s rays reach through the majestic trees, an invitation to the great day ahead. The bay glistens in the background. It’s beautiful! The involuntary grin deeply creases my face. I say my prayers. I’m happy!
Some people go to therapists. Some meditate. Others search daily for that elusive inner peace. For me it’s morning’s freshness and my bicycle at 6am, cruising through the neighborhood. Morning is the gift we’re all given. The bicycle is the gift I give myself.
I’ve been riding bicycles all my life. Love it! I remember my first lessons with training wheels, my first lesson without them. I remember crying when I realized my dad was not behind me holding me up. Then I promptly fell.
Most mornings in good weather, sometimes in not so good weather, I raise the garage door and leave the house for a 75-minute ride through the neighborhood. It’s peaceful. Quiet. There are hardly any cars, dogs, or people; just me, the morning and the promising day ahead.
“The Bicycle Man” they call me. I’ve been called worse.
There are three regular riders on the circuit as I call it, in their colorful bike outfits. They ride as a group always with a bright “good morning” for me. There are some regular walkers offering big smiles while soaking up that morning promise. “Good mornings” abound! Like warm coffee on a cold morning the day flows.
The peaceful solitude only lasts so long. After the 7’oclock hour the cars, school buses, and people start to flow. I make my way back to our home.
The newness of another day!