What Am I On?

I am on my bicycle.

Celebrating a friend's birthday. Cruising down a coastal trail, hugging the shoreline of Monterey Bay. Riding through drifted sand, following the paved path up and down the dunes. From the heart of artichoke country, past Cannery Row and Lovers Point. Along the famed 17 Mile Drive, past the unnatural greens and sand traps of Pebble Beach. Into Point Lobos State Reserve, and back again. Sixty-four miles, with a challenging 2100 feet of climbing.

I am the antidoper. I had a pint of blood extracted this week. Not for my own benefit—not to boost my performance on a bicycle on some future ride, but to help save the lives of people I will never know. When my oxygen-starved muscles spiked my heart rate to 189 bpm climbing an unexpectedly steep hill in Carmel, I stepped off the bike and walked the last few yards.

We stopped for a treat at a French bakery, and it was a chance encounter that many of us will remember about this day. A beautiful elderly woman, impeccably dressed, stopped to chat with us. She was spry and quick-witted, and eager to encourage us to keep riding our bicycles. She talked about the freedom it brings, and shared fond memories of girlhood cycling adventures in the Black Forest. Some riders in our group soon engaged her in speaking German and French. We were speechless when she revealed that she is 96 years old.

Riding back to our starting point, I reflected on the cognitive advantages enjoyed by the multi-lingual. I thought about our freedom to ride. No entrance fees for bicycles on the 17 Mile Drive. No entrance fees for cyclists at Point Lobos. We coasted past a line of idling cars waiting for others to exit on an over-capacity day; no entry delay for bicycles.

I basked in the bright sunshine of a California winter's day—on my bicycle.