Not All Downhill
Life, liberty, and the pursuit
I could not tell you the last time I rode a bike.
Before cellphones, a heap of bikes strewn across a driveway or front stoop were communication enough. Pulling up to a friend’s house, I didn’t need a text to answer my questions of Where you at? and Who’s all there?
I remember hanging out late on summer nights, under the stars because it was too nice to stay inside. We’d sit for hours on a corner overlooking this big hill. When it was time to pack it in, I’d say my see you laters and hop on my bike.
My house sat at the very bottom of the development, about a block after the hill flattened. On my ride home, I’d see if I could make it all the way from the top of the hill to my driveway without pedaling. After a week’s worth of successful tries, the new game became not touching the handlebars.
I’d start pedaling to build up momentum and then, at the top of the hill, I’d stop pedaling and take my hands off the bars. The bottom of the hill presented a unique challenge: a right turn that — to this day, I don’t know why or how — I’d take on full speed, no hands.
Though I was always leaving my friends and headed home, I never felt like I was riding toward or away from anything. For two minutes, I was without care or objective. I transcended…
