It's not about the bike

It's about the wind, behind you and around you and pushing you with a hand on your back like your dad the first time without training wheels. It's about the wind turning on you later, in your face like a drill sergeant, pressing you back and down.

It's about turning to your mom and exchanging razzberries, because really, what else is there to say when the wind is in your face?

It's about rabbits and pheasants and a redwing blackbird showing off for the ladies. It's about hearing the songs of crickets and frogs and birds you wish you knew the names of. It's about the trees starting to bloom and unreal green of grass after the rain and the way even dandelions can look beautiful if you squint.

It's about the way a long stretch of asphalt grey and single yellow stripe become the greatest sight your eyes have beheld.

It's about the cares and concerns, the worries, the bills you don't know how you'll pay, the friend who's sick, the job interview that didn't go well, all falling away behind you.

It's the splatter of water up your leg when you can't avoid the puddles, and the memory of riding in a pouring rainstorm, laughing and soaked to the skin.

It's the toughest hill you ever climbed and the fastest you've ever gone. It's a pull in your lungs and a burn in your thighs.

It's putting the hammer down in the last mile, hands down in the drops, head up. It's thinking about circles: the circles the pedals make to move the circles of your wheels towards the circle of the sun, setting behind the trees because the world moves in a circle like the next gear you shift into, just a little bit harder.