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If someone tells you not to touch something, what do you do? Well, you want to reach out and touch. If it is a red button with a “do not push” warning sign, or an immaculate Ferrari in a show room with a big sign that says “kindly refrain from touching”, it takes far more than just sheer will power for me to resist the urge to touch.

It is the off-season. I am healing. I am not supposed to be riding. I am supposed to be enjoying other activities, like pumpkin carving and trail runs. I am healing, or that’s what I am trying to convince myself is taking place. I was told to not ride my bike for safety reasons. Fine. I don’t need to ride my bike. There are so many other things I want to do. Hikes, brunch, beach, and tennis. Wait. You said I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike? So, I cannot ride my bike? Everything else blurs around me, and suddenly, I can only think about one thing and one thing only. That is all I can see. Bikes. Bikes. Bikes. I must ride my bike. I have to ride my bike. My bike is calling me. Do you see that view? No. I see a multitude of cyclists enjoying the view. Wow. Am I really that one-dimensional? No. Not at all, but I am happy riding my bike. Am I happiest? Sometimes I think so.

I should apologize in advance, if you waved at me on an 80 degree October day in West Marin as you pedaled on by, and all I could summon was a glare. Just be glad I didn’t through a temper tantrum. Or throw rocks. Healing requires rest. Rest and safety. Not bikes. Darn.

I am happy in some other places too, but in times like these, I think I am happiest on my bike.

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