It was the kind of place where every entry to the endless public beach hosted a colorful bike locked or just left leaning against a post or sea grape tree, often with a kicked-off pair of flip flops beside it. We’ve been going there forever, it seems, and we almost never miss a sunrise, and there’s a beauty and majesty and timelessness to it.
This visit, my older daughter flew in from across the country from one direction, and my younger daughter is about to go across the country in another direction. My husband and I, and the relatives we visited, are poised at the precipice of change as well.
Now, back home, it’s hard to ground myself, and yet I know what always works, what always takes me back and propels me forward. That’s, of course, Traveling at the Speed of Bike. And so I choose my trusty steed and my route, and I get ready, once again, to ride.