There is usually a crowd here, but today, no. Some big football game, I hear, may be calling folks elsewhere.
The trail stretches out in front of Attica and me, sun dappling through the tree canopy, the first of the fall leaves crunching underneath as we roll over them. We pick up speed, as she likes to run and it’s miles at times before we even see another person. We swirl around the engineered swamplands, the cattails barely moving in the unseasonable 90-degree heat. We stop briefly and I think about how I felt that first time I brought Attica here after emancipating her from the attic after 20 years (see my book for that story, and more).
As I pause to drink some water, I step back to take this picture and look at her. She’s a bit worse for the wear after these past four years, and I promise myself to rewrap her handlebars, replace the torn brake hoods, and touch her up with some paint. And yet she’s happy, and I’m happy, and for the next 16 glorious miles, all is well with the world.
Traveling at the Speed of Bike 