When I was a kid, my bicycle wasn't just transportation—it was freedom.
If it was within ten miles, I was riding there.
Friend's house? Hop on the bike.
Baseball field? Hop on the bike.
Convenience store for candy? Hop on the bike.
Just riding around because there was nothing better to do? Absolutely.
Back then, the only thing you worried about was getting home before the streetlights came on. We didn't have fancy bike computers or GPS. If you got lost, you just kept pedaling until you recognized somebody's mailbox.
Then adulthood happened.
I moved out, bought a vehicle, and suddenly every destination seemed way too far to ride a bicycle.
The mailbox? Better drive.
The grocery store that's two miles away? Better drive.
Need one thing from the hardware store? Definitely taking the truck.
Somewhere along the way, my bicycle went from being my favorite thing to own... to becoming expensive shed decoration.
Now every spring I open the shed, look at it, and say the exact same thing.
"I'm going to start riding again."
The bicycle just sits there like it knows I'm lying.
It probably hears me every year and thinks, "Sure you are. See you next April."
I'll even pump up the tires.
Maybe wipe the dust off.
Check the chain.
Then somehow I convince myself I've already done enough exercise for the day.
Mission accomplished!
The funny part is I remember riding for hours as a kid without thinking twice. We'd pedal until our legs felt like spaghetti, stop for a drink, and head right back out.
Today, I sit on the bike seat for thirty seconds and start wondering if they make memory foam bicycle seats.
And what's with those hills?
I'm convinced they weren't there when I was twelve.
Either the roads got steeper, or gravity got stronger after turning fifty.
I'm leaning toward gravity.
Every once in a while I'll see someone flying down the road on a bicycle looking like they're training for the Tour de France.
Meanwhile, I'm over here wondering if I can count walking to the shed as cardio.
Maybe one of these weekends I'll actually dust off the old bike, ride around the neighborhood, and remember what made it so much fun in the first place.
Or...
I'll open the shed, nod at the bicycle, tell it "maybe next weekend," close the door, and drive somewhere instead.
At least the bicycle has a nice place to live.
If this made you chuckle, you're probably like me—still hanging on to a bicycle that's waiting for the day we finally keep our promise. Until then, it's enjoying its retirement in the shed right alongside my motivation.
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