My cycling brother from another mother and all-around good buddy, Mike, will often, out of nowhere, exclaim on a bike ride, “I love my bike”.
Most would mistakenly think this means he simply loves his bike – I clearly love mine – but that’s only part of what he means by that fantastically complex statement.
We were out on our first 50-mile ride of the year (my buddy, Chuck and I put in some bonus miles for a crisp 100k), about eight or nine deep in a pace-line, sprinting for City Limits signs, just enjoying that we were outside, and Mike, with a smile stretched all the way across his face, blurts out, “I love my bike.”
What it really means is, I love life on my bike, riding with friends, having the time of our lives.
Good times and noodle salad, my friends.
I love my bike.
For sure! And “I love the freedom and fitness and friendship that riding my bike brings into my life each time I throw a leg over the top tube!” is much harder to should when sprinting for a town sign… š
I love my bike.
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