I burned a candle for Balzac

My relationship with my bicycle started three years ago. I was home from university, feeling restless, and from some depthy place in my brain there was a spark that sizzed along the fuse until it led me to the creaky garage where my mother's old bronze Panasonic Tourist from her university days was waiting for me.

We cut loose. Bicycle riding came back easily and we meandered through town together, then took a left and hit the open road into the wide fields of the country. Nothing beats that. Golden growing grain achering out to each side, all brushed up with bushes and shelter belts around the corners. Nothing blocking my sun blue sky. All, achering out and out and out.

I couldn't quit my mother's bicycle. I went back to it day after day and when it came time to drive back to my state of university, we tacked it on to the back of our Dodge Stratus. We've been together ever since. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, I'd never leave Bicycle.

Also, did you know that Powerade is kosher?