I’ve been riding my bike again these days. We’ve moved outside of town, so there are many old country roads to explore, which I love. I do wish we had moved in the fall, as the sticky summer heat here is suffocating—something to look forward to, I suppose. Perhaps we will have a few routes we love mapped out by the cooler weather.
Running and riding here makes me miss those flat, Texas roads and their comfortably wide shoulders. Looking back, those shoulders seem a little over the top. But it was all I knew. They must be at least six feet wide… six feet, a safe distance these days.
There is not much else I miss about Texas. But definitely the roads, and burritos from little trailers where you order in Spanish and pay in cash. And maybe the big open sky. And now that I’m thinking about it, I miss my friends… and maybe just maybe my family. But other than the list, there is not one thing I miss about Texas, though I refuse to admit any of this out loud. Because for the time being, Missouri is home, and so are these winding, hilly roads with absolutely no shoulder.
I’m getting used to it, and I am not afraid. The incredible landscape, lush green ranchlands, and the trees that frame the roads are honestly worth the trade. Though, I am incredibly thankful that in busy areas, the highway department still paints the white line on the edge of the lanes. On Texas highways, I used to think it was tempting fate to ride anywhere close to that white line. Now I laugh at younger myself and cross right over the line, if I can even find it—a few inches to the right and I would drop several feet into the drainage ditches.
My bike has logged a lot of miles on those Texas roads, especially the ones around Brownwood Lake, and I am sure it remembers. Home changes, but my bike doesn’t. My old Trek is an antique now, I suppose, but like so many other things that share experiences and travel from place to place with me, I cannot seem to part with it. It might be old, but it still makes that ticking sound bikes make when they coast—next to the sound of running water, one of my favorite sounds in the world—so that’s really all I need.
A friend of mine called me out to others a few weeks back, “Chels has a hard time letting go.” That stings honestly, I was not aware it was quite so apparent, and this is of course, nothing we should point out to strangers. Though perhaps she’s right to some degree.
How could I possibly let go of this bike? After all, we have been through together; it just seems wrong. What would I even do with it? List it ‘free to a good home’ carelessly like those people whose dogs accidentally have puppies? No way. I’ve thought maybe someday I could gift it to a college student who doesn’t have any money. One who would love it as I did. But then what happens when she earns enough money to buy a bike with gears that actually shift? I can’t even think about it. For now, I’ll just keep my old bike hanging in the garage, moving with me from place to place like a security blanket.
Have I mentioned the gears don’t shift well? It got really bad a few months ago, and I swear a demon-possessed it. So, I begrudgingly loaded her up and headed to a bike shop. It is better now, but not great. Some nicer than expected, twenty-something trendy guy helped me out.
Doesn’t matter. Gears are for sissies. I love this bike. And I am starting to love this road. Because in just one day, I saw a turtle, a pack of llamas, a crane, a field full of cows and calves, a snake, an aggressive chihuahua, and a Doberman Pincher who tried to look meaner than he actually was.
As I balance on this white line, I’m thankful for the comfort, safety, and clarity it brings to my life. And it goes on for miles. I start to wonder what it would be like if I could someday let go of the things behind me. Risky. Would life feel more meaningless than it already does? Would I be left holding onto nothing? Or would it allow me to drop my guard, and make space in my heart to grab on and connect to something new?
Forget it. For now, I’m on a beautiful road in Missouri climbing hills on a bike that hates to shift gears, just waiting till the next time I get to hear the ticking sound.
