38 years

38 years.  From a naïve teenager to a middle aged man.  So much has changed.  Except for the feeling that I get whenever I throw my leg over my white SE PK Ripper.  The feeling that never grows old.  The feeling that never dies.  The only difference is that I appreciate it so much more now.  Like @toddlyons would say “We’ve been here for years”.  I wish I still had that 83 PK Ripper.

 

My Cyclotherapy

Akin to a surfer endlessly chasing the perfect wave, so much of winter fat biking is about patiently waiting for perfect snow conditions.  Hard packed.  Crusty.  Not too icy.  Ideal traction.  White asphalt.  I have been fortunate enough to experience such conditions a few times since I started riding winter fat over 5 years ago.  But this year has been a few hits and a whole lot of misses.  From very cold temps, major snowstorms, to mild temps and rain.  It has definitely been an exercise in patience and carefully picking ride days.  This labour of love.  This passion pushing me out the door.  Outside.  My bike bringing my body and mind back to the same place.  Disrobing my thoughts.  These miniscule glimpses of emptiness.  Breathing room.  My dose of courage for the day.  Here.  Now.  This infinite stillness.  This nothingness.  My cyclotherapy.