Well, this reflection seemed like an invitation. I went over there and gave it a shake, wiped the seat, tested the handlebars, and presto, she was ready for a ride. From the little room where she was to the exit gate it was a long journey. I remembered the previous bikes, models, colors and frustrated rides. As they say, we never forget what it's like to ride a bike. Truth. An adjustment here, another there and the balance on it happened without any problem.
The cold winter wind slashed across my face, leaving a strange feeling of discomfort and freedom. The chills on my arms caused by the cold almost made me give up on this walk that would speak to me a lot. In fact, all tours talk or talk about us.
The icy rides were disconcerting, but I kept going like no obstacle could with me. Mistake. A lot of sand under the rear wheel had the ability to unbalance the entire journey.
Keeping control is really difficult, especially when we're at speed. I learned that it is important to make an effort not to fall, as well as to get up. I had gotten used to falling. The effort not to fall is of another nature: one that persists despite adversity.
Without moving forward, there would be no short walk around the block. There would be no sun between the cracks in the trees mixing heat and cold in my arms. There would be no rattle of the ratchet moving courage. Not even the other cyclists would be seen. There would be no such story to tell.
On the way back, after going through the gate to leave the bike in the little room, the trajectory was not so long. Leaving her there was leaving the fears, with the certainty that having them is not so bad. Maybe I had forgotten how much I liked to ride.
The truth is that without persisting there would be no encounters with other obstacles, which were “dribbled” with more efficiency and control. There would be no dynamics of accelerating, decelerating, braking, stopping and continuing, showing that, after all, all encounters are modulated in this way.
I went for a ride on my dusty bike and ended up pedaling through the spaces inside me. Sometimes riding a bike is not just pedaling. Not even piles of sand are just piles of sand.
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