Head Over Handlebars

I’ve been back in the bull city for just over a week, and I cannot say enough about how good it feels to be back on my bike. Bicycling has shifted from a hobby to a central part of how I live my life over the past three years, so I knew it would be strange to be bikeless for six weeks during my summer adventures in Michigan and Minnesota. However, I was silly enough to think that it would be nice to have a break from riding during the July heat. Instead, I found myself missing everything about it. Sure, it was nice to not have good hair days spoiled by my helmet, but I’ll gladly opt for the pony tail now. Friday temperatures soared toward triple digits, and I could feel the sun turning my skin pink as I flew down Knox on my way to work. The air smelled of asphalt; I could feel heat rising from the blacktop when I paused at intersections. I can feel the strength of my legs again, and I am so, so in love with the movement, with the sweat, with the wonder of the human body propelling itself forward on a tiny frame built from twenty-some pounds of aluminum and carbon. I find myself, once again, head over handlebars.