As a child and teenager, I loved to ride my bike – first with my family in western Kansas, where my brother and I often explored the countryside outside town via limestone-gravel roads, and more recently on the backroads of Indiana. With first John Hanson and then my dad, I helped lead several longer distance, week long rides. (For example, one year we rode from Indianapolis to southern Illinois and back, about 540 miles in six days.) I also learned to love mountain biking, but that’s the subject of another post!
In recent years, however, I’ve spent more time watching other people ride and dreaming of riding my own bike than actually riding. My trusty “steed” has gathered dust in my garage, the air slowly leaking out of its tires.
So it was with no small measure of delight that yesterday I accepted an invitation to go for a ride with my neighbor. After airing up my completely flat tires, we loaded our bikes on the back of his SUV and set off for the Monon Trail. We had a blast riding from Broadripple north to Carmel and back. I had never been on the Monon Trail, and thoroughly enjoyed it. A couple hours later, we had ridden almost 21 miles, and I was recalling tips I had shared with others to increase endurance.
A little to my surprise, I really don’t have sore muscles today. The only thing that’s really sore – and it’s very sore – is where I met the saddle. Ouch!