That One Bike Ride

That one bike ride made all the difference; It always does. From the treading of its two wheels on the rough concrete, to its its brakes that seem to fight the metal of the tire as I slow down. Truth is, me and my bike have alot in common. We’re both considered to be at the bottom of the food chain, but we manage to meet expectations. The unfortunate or fortunate thing we have in common—depending on you perceive it—is that we both have to work harder than every other noun in our class to get and go where desire.

As I pedal with the strength in my thighs and calf muscles, I understand that forward movement can only happen with sheer will-power. As I roll down Chicago’s ‘Robert Tailor‘ bike trail, I enjoy a wilderly freedom that only this moment, place, and time can offer. Rising up on my two pedals until my knees are at 180 degrees, I stand tall; My pride levels out with my height above ground. My bike ride continues with an nitros-shot of strength, courage, and adrenaline.

Cutting the wind and Newton’s concept of force, I feel unstoppable. In my mind I ruminate the phrases, “I am truly unstoppable. I control my destiny. Nothing can hold me back; not the wind, not the impatient drivers or their horn-blowing vehicles, and not the bright red ‘Stop’ signs.” I feel as if limits can only be placed on those who succumb to mankind’s commodities—but not me.

As I sit at a stop light, I look to my left and notice a driver. Its a black female—possibly in her mid 20’s—texting on her phone as if she’s not amongst society and its other inhabitants. I smile to myself as I realize the joy that I’m able to experience as opposed to the convenience of this consumerist machine she’s manning. Maybe if she could feel what I feel, she would want to trade places with me.


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