The forecast called for rain, so I decided to head out for a morning meditation on my bike instead of on foot. This way, I would be able to cover more ground in less time, and get home quicker if it started to pour. 

Out here in the mountains it is quiet. Nothing but the sound of birds, and bicycle tires on the gravelly road. I am surrounded on either side by the lush leaves of early summer. An endless tunnel of green as far as the eye can see.  

As I coast through the dewy morning air with ease, a sense of calm and lightness washes over me. 

I am 5 years old. The road beneath my wheels is sandy. I’m on the street in front of Zio Mario’s house, in the briny lagoon-scented air. I am catching balance-, on a borrowed bike, for the very first time in my life. I’m doing it! I’m doing it! 

I am 8 years old. Speeding down the slate sidewalk on Clifton Ave, on my mother’s old blue bike. I wobble to the right, and my foot scrapes against our neighbor’s low brick garden wall. Searing white hot light shoots through me, as the blood begins to pour out of my foot. I walk the bike back home. 

I am 10 years old. Stepping out of the air-conditioned corner store into the summer heat, with a bag full of penny candy and a tiny 25 cent bottle of champagne cola in my hands. My bike is gone. Stolen. What do I do now?

I am 11 years old. Frantically trying to pedal through the open intersection on my hand-me-down yellow 5-speed Schwinn Stingray, without being spotted. I turn my head, left right left right. I don’t see anyone. I hope no one calls out my name from down the block. I hope the street lights don’t come on soon. I don’t want the game to end. I love the excitement of manhunt!

I am 12 years old. On my way to my friend Lucy’s house. I know there is a dog on her block. He has chased me a few times before. I know I can outrun him. I have outrun him every time. 

Then he is there. Running alongside me. Barking. Growling. He snaps at me, skims my pant leg. I am alternating between pedaling and kicking my foot out at him. Pedal, kick. Pedal, kick. Scream.

I am yelling for him to get away! Then he latches on to my calf. With his teeth. I give one final shake of my leg with every ounce of force I can muster, and he releases his grip. I pedal all the way home. I will never ride down Lucy’s block again. 

I am 13. After begging for permission, I am finally venturing across the border. Riding out of Newark, into a neighboring town, on my new Kent 10-speed, which my parents bought, on sale, at TwoGuys. We are on our way to McDonald’s. It’s so far away.  

We are riding with no hands. Sitting up tall on our seats. Criss-crossing each other. Weaving back and forth. I turn my head to call back to Timmy and George, with so much excitement, that I don’t see the parked van’s side-view mirror. 

My torso smacks into it, and I am hurled head-over-handlebars. Somersaulting onto the street. I bounce up and brush it off as no big deal. I hold back the tears. With my elbows, shoulders, and knees full of road rash, I check to make sure my bike is okay, and I hop back on. Defiantly. Nothing will get in the way of this big adventure.

I am 40. On a mountain bike that has been collecting dust in my garage. Discovering rail trails and rediscovering the sensations after a too-long hiatus. Returning to an old feeling. Returning to an old friend. 

With every pump of the pedals, every rotation of the chain, I am all of these ages, all of these memories, all at once. And I am none of them. 

I am 57.

Out here in the country, on this road where cars seldom pass. All alone with the thoughts that turn and turn on their center like wheels, even as they fly by me like the tunnel of leaves. 

I realize it is raining. Really raining. 

I realize I am smiling. Really smiling. And I have been all along.

Rhythmically rocking, pumping the pedals, while the pouring rain smacks into the big toothy grin that (right now) seems permanently plastered across my face. 

If someone were to drive by, they might wonder, if I am on the verge of joy. Or madness.

And if they were to ask me what was going through my mind at this very moment, I would answer: Everything. And absolutely nothing at all.