I live on a great street.
Really nice people.
Some keep to themselves, and others stop and chat.
I love both, as I can be both.
They see me leaving on my daily bike rides.
They see me returning from my daily bike rides.
They ask simple questions.
‘Did you have a nice ride?’
‘Where did you go today?’
I give simple answers.
‘Yes, I did, thank you.’
‘I rode The South Shore today.’
That kind of thing.
I then turn it over and ask them about their day.
There is one thing that happens that I enjoy.
Secretly enjoy.
It happens quite frequently.
I get a kick out of it.
A secret kick.
They have no idea how long I ride, where I ride, or how far I ride.
They will ask me something about my routes.
Something along the lines of,
‘Have you ever ridden to?’
‘Have you been across this bridge?’
‘Have you been on this path?’
I always answer with, ‘Oh yes, I have, it is beautiful.’
The thing is, the things they are asking about my rides, are places on my rides, that I do not consider the ride to have even started, or that I am basically home.
They are asking about places that I have ridden, some in the thousands.
They are asking about places that I know where a tree has a weird branch.
A crack in the pavement that looks like a Snake.
Today there was a Budweiser Can that was not there yesterday.
If they knew the town I was returning from, they would ask, ‘Did you drive?’
I know this post may come across as a ‘humblebrag.’
It is not.
Your rides are yours, and yours alone.
You do not do them to show off.
You do them for you.
But I think it is fun when this happens.
What goes on in your head.
How you would like to really tell them what you just did.
But you know not to.
There is a time and a place.
This is not the time.
This is not the place.
You want to keep this time and place happening as seldom as possible.
Nobody needs to know.
Nobody wants to know.
Ride for you.
‘Yes, I did, thank you.’
Insert director’s chair emoji here.
‘There is another way to ride.’