Journeys Through the Past
Be-ep. I blink as the pitchy, electric clock hits one in the afternoon. My footsteps shuffle on the cool slate floor, making my way to the back door. Pulling at the door handle, my gaze drifts to my wrist, double checking I have on my used-to-be white, now dusty tan Apple watch. Stepping outside, hair in a low pony, helmet in hand, mask in my pocket.
A sky of perfect baby blue, littered with fluffy clouds, was the backdrop for today. I laid my eyes on the two gems leaning against the wall: my fiery orange bike and my sister's electric emerald green one. Like clockwork, we simultaneously swooped the bikes into our arms. In one hand I clutched the smooth body of the bike, and the other propped the heavy gate open while I slid through. Staggering up the concrete stairs, framed by overgrown rose bushes, the steaming strip of desolate black asphalt came into view. Cars lay at rest in their driveways, not a soul out beside the two of us.
The asphalt radiated a creeping heat as we set the bikes side by side like we were about to start a great race. I threw my leg over the bike and eased down, stopping a few inches over the rigid jet-black seat, planting one foot on the left pedal while situating my hands on the handlebar. Ready. Set. Pedal.
Every bike ride, we journey along the same path. Uphill first, past our standard checkpoints: La Salle, Bear Park, and finally the grand Piedmont Church. Making a right, we push ourselves through the final section of uphill. The feeling of fire burned through my tired calves to their breaking point pumping with all my strength, moving barely a foot with each pump. The voice of giving up and begrudgingly walking the bike those last few yards echoes in my mind, but the top of the hill was like a finish line awaiting my success. Our legs scream with relief as we crest the hill being it was now all downhill, back to the house.
Gaining speed, we zip around corners, fly down hills, and lift our arms in the air like wings, feeling free as birds making our journey South to home. I close my eyes while coasting down the last bend, breeze in my hair, sun shining on my face, and sister beside me, taking in the moment's beauty. Everything was complete and tomorrow I’d do it all over again.
Be-ep. My eyes opened at the electric sound. I was now in my downstairs living room, peddling away in the darkness on my exercise bike. Not going anywhere, alone.
The sprawling hills, the bright blue sky, and my sister all had disappeared. My once limitless clock, where I could be out for hours, was now a twenty-minute window between seven and eight at night. My sister is now 226 miles away at college. My freedom is trapped by this stationary bike with no wheels to lead me on my next journey. The fantasy I was in had been swept away back into the depth of my memory. But I want it back.
Pedal towards the past. Pedal away from the present. Pedal wishing to go somewhere, refusing to believe you are going nowhere. Pedal because I don’t know what else to do. Pausing to take a breath, it feels as if my chest will burst - not just from the workout but from the tearing ache I feel in my heart. I can’t pedal my way back to the past; that effort is as fruitless as trying to travel 226 miles on a bike with no wheels. Those daily bike rides faded away in the blink of an eye and by the screech of a clock. The simplicity and serenity of those rides were lost as the world continued to push us towards the future.