Biking Memory

Now that the frost is nipping at people's noses and it's dark and dreary at 4pm, it has become impossible to do one of my favorite things. Bike. Every year I come to this point, constantly checking weather.com hoping that there's a weekend day above 40 degrees (that's my biking temperature cut-off). It doesn't happen often and when it does, I still battle cold winds and numb cheeks, and I find it difficult (and sometimes painful!) to do the long bike rides Tyler and I so desperately enjoy. This year, due to busy and/or rainy weekends this fall, my biking season ended much earlier than it should have. Now I find myself even more restless than usual as the cold weather drops in and overstays it's welcome.

Every once and a while I like to nestle in a memory. Today of course my mind wanders to days of biking...

Before our annual block party, all the kids that lived on the same tiny street of my childhood home participated in a strange ritual. It took place in the morning, as our parents dragged out patio tables and chairs to the street, set up the bbq and placed toys on the lawn. We all hopped on our banana seat bicycles and proceeded to line up and ride in a tight circle. Around and around, over and over again, in a swirling, dizzying, wonderful circle. I remember how important it was that we participate in this ritual year after year on that special day. A day we looked forward to all summer. It's a blurry memory and I really only envision the dizzy, grey concrete underneath my bicycle tire. But I love that memory. And I always wonder when we broke away from the circle, one by one, and parted ways.