I just graduated college.  I am back home with my family while I look forward to a job that makes me jump from my sheets in the morning but it seems these are turbulent times abound and living off of savings will soon be more challenging for me as the loan collectors start beckoning for returns on their good offers.

I ride an old, mid-seventies Fuji Sagres.  I picked it up during my junior year of college from a police auction.  Someone had neglected this steel relic and allowed the impounding of what could have been a cherished pony.  I have to thank the Craigslist business repairman for letting me purchase the rear-wheel-less frame for a scant $45 when he could have turned it around and made a cool $300 off of some fixed-gear aficionado instead.  My cotton candy blue Ram hasn't left my dreams since.  It's an old machine.  It runs a six-cog steel rim on the back and sports an eclectic set of red slicks, Rastafarian print bar tape and a seldom useful plastic front fender.  I can't replace the brakes because of the really wide and heavy original steel fork.  I don't have any cash to upgrade the fidgety drive-train.  My bike still has some rust spots from day one when we met, when I spread my thighs and mounted the wheel-less orphan, hoping it would fit my long legs.  Even still, I give the aging handlebars a sweet, tender kiss most days and pat my oddly fitting seat as if to reward a pointer for fetching a downed mallard.  I can't imagine riding anything else, especially because I've never ridden anything else.

I revived the previously-defunct cycling club upon entry to college in 2007.  Several riders joined for what would eventually be monumental failures as group rides.  Rims began tacoing, tubes leaked and exploded and vomiting from pre-ride herring snacks all slowed any hope of progress for the club.  Riders were very few and even fewer ever showed for events.  I had many solo "group" rides, despite the promised 6 or so riders who planned on waking up at 7AM and partaking in Sunday rides.  Unsurprisingly, I rode less than I'd anticipated.  My dismay often held down what could have been the greatest two years of training any cyclist could ask for.

That's all behind me now.  I am home, unemployed for the time being and capable of planning my own creative routes.  Except, I still don't ride as often as I'd like.  A passion for growing my food and reading cut into what would otherwise be prime hours on the saddle.  I neglect my bike more than I'd like to admit.  I still haven't cleaned the drive-train once since I've been back home in May.  Granted, I did spend 2 weeks away from any wheels on an internship but a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis recently has kept me around home to allow access to doctors. 

I don't know what the disease will do to my ability to ride.  I already have numb fingers and odd fatigue in the heat.  A rainy, tepid summer has helped but other conditions around have not.  The roads are terrible in many places.  A weak economy has delayed funding for repair and as a result, I jangle more often than I'd like, especially on the most accessible roads.  My companions do not exist.  Those who I rode with in college, especially the upbeat Triathletes are nowhere near me.  I see many recreational sidewalk riders and bare a toothy grin as I pass but they are not ideal riding partners.

I do my best to integrate into a culture I know very little about.  I failed miserably at a cyclocross race in DeKalb due to mechanical failures.  I've completed a tour down the Great Western Trail with several giddy bikers, equally eager to be riding in a group.  I have withstood the smell of pigsh^t in the air from CAFOs during morning rides as well as the soccer mothers who run me off the road, cellphone in hand and completely oblivious to their error.  I deal with grit in my teeth, sweat in my eyes and the loneliness of a road's open-invitation with no takers.  I keep fit, flexing my quads and throwing in a few days of Yoga, if I remember to.  I read up on diet, technique and stories, hoping to eventually put myself into what I hope will be a fatigue-less physique.

So if you read this and feel like sometimes you're the only one out there spinning the gears, eating the insects, you're not alone.  It's not about having the best ride or the fastest pace for me at this point.  While I'd like to establish a larger community, it's more evident that I should be out there as often as I can.  I try not to take my situation for granted, regardless of how lackluster it seems most of the time.  That blur of location and presence when you step off from a ride cannot be mimicked elsewhere. 

With my butt firmly planted on the ground and my eyes staring straight into the sky, fluttering from relief that I'm done with a ride but will be back on tomorrow, I convince myself that it's not so hopeless.  Perhaps I'll inspire someone else to get their own ride.  They'll clench their drop bars and teeth as they pedal zealously ahead in a pack of like-minded comrades.  I'll be there with them and eventually, you will be too.