part 1.

Where were we? Oh, right; I went down for the count. 

Truth is, I lost my confidence in myself, (what little I had,) and became very afraid of the world.  And my best friend became my mournful enemy. 

Only a year prior I was riding almost 80 miles, working my way to 100.  Now a just few miles were a struggle. 

Truth is, I can't not ride. My bike was never just a bike.  My bike and I were one, attached. 

Remember Chang and Eng?  They were attached by only a small piece of flesh but when Chang died Eng bled out.  He was pumping his blood into Chang but, dead, Chang wasn't pumping it back so only three hours later Eng died, too. 

That's how I feel without my bike, so I rode it anyway, almost every day, slowly, sweating, and without any joy at all.  Sometimes, probably most of the time, you keep going forward because you don't know what else to do.

I would think that with homeless people - when they were really far gone - walking down the street, barely able to move at all, and I'd wonder what made them keep walking, going, and decided it's because we don't know what else to do.  Which is kind of intense. 

Life peaks early to mid thirties. Your road is becoming defined, you feel good, and you're young enough, still, to feel invincible. 

Eventually your blood pressure is too high and you have to eat salt-free potato chips.  This is the beginning of the end, let me tell you.  What I mean is, choices eventually show up.

What is it about living on earth, what is it about being alive that matters to us, and at what point, at what compromise, at what loss does this no longer apply?