Last weekend, I took a leap to revisit one of my past joys—biking with friends. And it was a delight.
My friends usually cycled every weekend. From time to time, they asked me to cycle with them. I always declined... until last weekend. I finally agreed, not knowing why. Maybe it was to break out of routine.
I haven’t touched a bike in 17 years, so I was nervous whether I could still do it. Though I was nervous, excitement filled me. I remembered biking being fun and relaxing. I liked the feeling of pedaling and moving through the air. I always liked it more than running.
I borrowed my friend’s bike and then we were off.
Legs on the pedal. Butt cheeks on the seat. Helmet on the head. I was ready.
Expecting to struggle, I pedaled cautiously. I was still on the bike and moving.
Muscle memory.
All these years, my body remembered how to bike. I gave a silent thanks to my body.
We rode on a biking trail that ran through the city of Irvine. The scenery throbbed with beauty. We passed by lakes, trees, streets, trails and roads. It was diverse as the immense selections of a grocery store. Throughout the ride, I felt alive. I forgot how much I enjoyed it; it was fun. At some point, I pondered on why I stopped biking. Then the past memories hit me.
Why I stop biking?
I was 6 years old, face free of wrinkles and pimples (those were the days…). My dad bought me a bike with training wheels one day, and I loved it. After a few biking sessions, the training wheels were no longer needed. In no time, I was riding the bike like a boss. It was my one of my favorite activities. For like 2 years, I rode around my house and neighborhood. However, one day, a lonesome, devious pebble stood and attacked my front tire, becoming a subtle yet huge obstacle for my bike. My bike lost the battle against the pebble and jolted to the side. I fell to my ruin and scraped my legs, arms, and hands. This was the worst fall I had yet. I bled and felt lingering pain. That experience was traumatizing as a child. I didn’t want to experience that fear and pain again. And that was the reason I stopped biking.
Enjoy the ride
A sharp turn ahead shook me from my reverie. I slowly pressed on the brakes and turned, fully focused on my surroundings. I smiled as I pedaled with the balls of my feet. It was just thrilling and exciting to bike again. My two friends were ahead and slowed down to warn me about the impending downhill road. “Be ready and brake when you need to,” said one friend. I nodded, keeping my eyes focused in front of me.
The downhill came, and I was ready. My bike accelerated to vast speeds (fastest I’ve gone), and I braked slowly in increments. That slowed me until I was moving at manageable speeds. Be safe and calm. I wasn’t too far behind from my friends. As long as I wasn't too far behind... I'll be fine. It was a few minutes later until the downhill slope became flat again, and I caught up with my friends. What an exhilarating ride.
We took a 5 minute break, catching our breath and quenching our thirst.
“Now, we go back.”
Now the downhill became an uphill. That was a big struggle. I pushed my legs to the limit and pedaled like a madman. I was exhausted. My back filled with sweat. My calves burned. My butt ached. My body wasn’t used to biking. I kept on going and overcame the uphill battle.
Now for the rest of the trip back…
My friends were usually ahead, but now they were pretty far up the distance. They both turned their heads to check on me periodically. I didn’t want to slow them down, so I pushed myself harder to catch up with them.
Towards 3/4th of the trip, my right leg started to fail me and cramp up, causing me to swerve to the right. Apparently, my legs weren’t used to biking that long yet. I panicked, causing the bike to fall on the side of the road. And I fell off the bike, using one hand on reflex to break the fall. Again, my hand, legs, and knees were scraped and bleeding.
I fell. But this time, there was no fear. There was pain, yes, but I realized that it was part of the experience. Actually, I was more worried about my friend’s bike, imagining scratches on it. I tried getting up. My legs shook and buckled, exhaustion tricking it. I fell again, this time on my butt.
Get up.
I tried again, and with determination, rose up on my two feet. I could see my friends riding back towards me, to check if I was alright. “I’m A-OK,” I told them. They asked if I could still make it back on the bike.
“You bet I can.”
In total, we rode about 21 miles (10.5 one way, 10.5 on the way back), and that took around 2 hours. I had to tend to my injuries afterward. I’m still recovering from them, but I can’t wait for the next biking session.
