Terenchal Downpours

I was sopping wet. Assaulted by the wind and the water and the ride. My legs, burning, fighting the gusts; my eyes, twitching, stabbed with the freezing rain. I remember thinking, “What am I doing here? Why am I not just coasting along like everyone else?” Because I’m not a coaster. Not anymore. It’s not about fulfilling my immediacy anymore, it’s about fulfilling my heart. And my heart loves to pedal and pound and thrive.
Yea, cycling is cool here. But that’s not why we do it. We do it for the exhilaration, for the challenge, for that feeling you got when you were 5 and you rode your first bike. That feeling. Like the world just got smaller and bigger all at once. Like you became something new…and so did everything else.
I relive that moment briefly every morning when I leave my apartment. And every night when I cross Hawthorne bridge, watching the sun fade behind the western hills, striking the river’s water just right. The perfect panoramic speed, I can watch the whole thing unfold. And the world gets smaller and bigger at the same time.
Just like this evening, drenched from the rain, my body freezing and overheating all at once. But it was perfect, I wanted to be exactly where I was, riding the bridge, seeing beyond the falling water, the beauty of it all.

Life can be comfortable, so very comfortable. But sometimes, comfortable isn’t good enough. Sometimes life, real life is a very cold rainstorm.

But what do I know, I’m just a kid with a bicycle.