biking in springtime up here in theBerkshires…roughly as good as it gets. And the early rides whisk me back, in memory, to learning to ride…in the spring…68 years ago. There was a two-step “boarding” spot…designed for horses. And a handsome, blue bike. With a horn. I forget who set me spinning on my way…on the gravel driveway back in our Peabody Mass farmhouse. Probably my mother. Maybe one of The Girls… the three older sisters. But I do, dimly, remember the thrill of having it stay up. Of cranking the pedals and having it keep on going. A miracle. I happen to think that biking is a bit of a miracle (the first one was only invented in the 19th century…an off-shoot of a kind of scooter, developed for the military). It was a brilliant insight…to intuit the gyropscopic quality of a two-wheeled vehicle. And what a joy forever after. For me, every spring of cycling is a faint, happy echo of that first surprising spin…Hey, this works!
Younger Next Year* *turn back your biological clock
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