My eyes are bright with readiness.

I hoist myself upon the metal frame, balancing as I locate the pedals beneath my feet, readying for the open road.

I’ve waited for this ride for days years. It’s forever been a dream of
mine to pedal a basket-adorned bicycle down a long country road and
today is the culmination of this small, yet urgent dream.

I climb on. Steady myself. The seat is resting at perfect height and
my runners rest firmly in place as my hands close in around the
black-spackled handlebars.

I check the road. Empty. And I am off.

I’m quickly barreling down Thomas Haynes Drive, past the Ecological
Reserve, and an indifferent herd of fifteen or so cattle. I continue.
It’s 11 AM and the sun is nearly straight overhead, but a gentle breeze
is carrying me: cooling my already-flushed cheeks, combing my
loosely-tied hair, and peeling the fatigue from my frame, my face, and
replacing it with calmness. Joy.

I press on, press up. Shoulder-high corn fields pass me on the
right. I can see they’re nearly ready for picking. The Dover Creek Farm
disappears behind me, on my left. Cracks, creases and patchwork cement
flow beneath my sneakers, pedaling wildly. And I am free.

…..

This ride feels like living. Like life after numb. The remembering.
The carelessness of childhood which is, in its essence, the most true
living of all. It’s the perfect embrace of beauty. Of time and place.
The unhurried presentness a seven-year-old has mastered after her 2,679
days of breathing in life. She hasn’t had time to numb. She hasn’t yet
descended into the torturous loss of perfect love. She hasn’t yet said
goodbye to daddy, mommy. She hasn’t yet locked up the first, middle or
last parts of her heart to save herself from the confusion and pain of
misdealt authority: teachers, politicians and preachers. Her eyes are
still fierce with life, clear as an untouched glacial spring. She is
new. She is here. She is now.

…..

I bend low. Careening down a steep hill: a corner beckoning below. I
near the turn when, suddenly, a large milk-chocolate frame appears.
Sleek. Alert. A deer, waiting for my move. I slow, and as I do my foot
grazes the spokes, sending a sharp shriek towards her. The deer
(who I decide is a female because she looks so stunning,) is startled,
turns and darts from the shoulder to a nearby clearing, just as I pass.

I am well over half-way. My destination: the Junction Café, in the heart of town, which later reminds me of the Whistlestop from the film Fried Green Tomatoes, which I love.

I am coasting now. I close my eyes, just for a moment. I want to
feel the ride save from my eyes. As I close them the scents and sounds
emerge: the soft whistling of wind streaming past my face, and the
smell: a mixture of dried straw, distant manure, and the freshness of
this morning’s early dew.

I reemerge to a sprinkler throwing a refreshing haze onto my course. It lasts for: one-mississippi, two-mississippi, three…
gone. My legs are beginning to tire, heavy as lead, but yesterday’s
drive reminds me there are only a few miles of straight road ahead. I
sigh with relief and reach for my water bottle.

…..

I breathe in deep. I can feel the
greyness fleeing. Colours are becoming more vivid. The greens are a
rainbow, now: autumn winter tones, lemonade, ginger, palm — the world
is spilling over. I can feel my breath slow. Deeper now, deeper. I am
slipping, now, along the road, effortlessly.

…..

And later, at Junction Café I read:

“For man, the vast marvel is to
be alive. For man, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme
triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive… We ought to dance
with rapture that we should be alive and in the flesh, and part of the
living, incarnate cosmos.” - D.H. Lawrence

Yes, indeed. Glory be to God.