Adios Amigo

Not many weeks after my wife and I moved to Tucson, 24 years ago, I answered a knock on the front door to find a beautiful Raleigh road bike parked on the sidewalk, a gift from our children. It was yellow and black, sleek, and fast. That was my introduction to the wonderful world of Tucson biking, my invitation to hit the road. Poor choice of words. Over the years, with a variety of different bikes, I’ve logged lots of miles around the city, especially on the great Bike Loop that circles the metro area. Included in those miles are twelve El Tour de Tucson events. Lots of stories to tell.

The photo above was taken a couple of weeks ago. In a sense, it’s a farewell picture of the last bike. This one is not sleek and fast; it is heavy, solid, and dependable. And now it belongs to someone who can ride it and find the same enjoyment I did. Now my bike sits on a platform down in the Fitness Center. It doesn’t move, but then it doesn’t fall over, either. Every biker takes his or her share of falls, and falling is something I don’t need these days.

Transitions. Changing patterns or routines. Letting go in order to find something new. It’s called life. Resist or deny all you want, but it’s going to happen anyway. I think the best we can do is be thankful for the good memories, trash the bad ones, and look ahead with a confident joy that is inherent in who we are. Confident joy leads us to live in this moment, fully, completely, creatively. Maybe confident joy is the name of the One, the Sacred Mystery, that makes the turns with us, accompanies and abides through all of life’s changes. You know that to be true, don’t you, because you’ve been through a few transitions, too. What would life be without that Presence?

I just looked at the clock and it’s 5 a.m. Gotta go. My new friend waits in the Fitness Center.