Learning to Ride

I talked to my Uncle a month or so ago.  Whenever I talk to him he asks me if I am riding and always seems a bit surprised,  maybe even disappointed when I answer no.  He rides all the time, seriously.  Like 90% of the days of the year.  In the mid west.  He's 70ish.  What's my excuse?

I used to ride. a lot. I loved to ride, to watch, to smell, to listen.  I had my favorite rides that I knew how to lengthen when I felt strong or shorten when felt tired or weak.  I loved to climb, yes I did, because I knew I could coast downhill and rest.  I was slim and strong.

I'm not sure what has been holding me back, a fear of some sort.  So today, even when the wind almost whipped the storm door out of my hands, rather than go inside, I stepped out of that fear, that zone.  I rode and laughed and cussed at the wind.

I'm learning to love to ride again.  I am learning the less traveled paths, sans dogs and that don't dead end into a body of water.  I'm learning to ride in colder weather because that is the time I have.  I'm learning to love the wind as it challenges me, strengthens me. And of course I love that wind as it pushes me home.  I love to cross the water, it never ceases to amaze me and bring me peace.  I love the smell of scrub pines.  Yes, I'm learning to love to ride again but I will never, ever, ever love the smell of chicken farms.