| Date: October 28, 1999 | | Location Canada to Mexico - #40 - Santa Barbara to Port Hueneme | | Where: Country Inn, Port Hueneme | Thursday - (we stoped early, 1:30, Jeanette did laundry while Jim wrote)
Day after day, as we ride, we pass beautiful beaches, state parks, restored missions, museums, and shopping centers, all worthy destinations, yet we peddle on. I'm sure many of you must shake your heads and ask, "Why didn't they stop and see---?" In fact I've asked myself that question more than once. Why do we opt to peddle on?
It's a pretty simple answer---what we enjoy the most is riding our bicycles.
We find great joy in the mere act of cycling. The simple pleasure of balancing and moving forward, the click of the next shift, the flow of a perfect turn, the demands of a hill, the rewards of a descent, the constant flow of scenery.
Imagine standing at an intersection as similar to looking at a still photo, and then as you begin to travel down the road that the photo comes alive and the scenery passes on either side. We ride into an ever-changing landscape of homes, people, cars, streets, shops and parks. We pass open pastures, vegetable fields, grassy hillsides, and quaint villages. We follow rivers that flow into noisy marshes, bordered by sandy beaches backed by endless ocean. They all call us forward into the changing picture. Who would want to stop and bring the picture to a halt?
So on we ride, smiles on our faces, views passing by, recalling memories of other rides and places and times. We often chat about people we have met, of towns we found interesting, and of meals, campsites or motels. Of course there are hills to climb, demands on legs and lungs.
It's only when tired muscles call a halt, bodies sedated, minds filled to capacity with scenery, that we stop each day. And every morning new curiosity tempts us on. We are never disappointed - each day contains surprises, challenges and rewards, they are ever changing, some predictable others not. Through it all runs the common thread of the joy of cycling.
We are passing through a busy world of cars and trucks, people young and old, each occupied with their roll in daily life. We seem to pass invisibly - neither encased in cars, carried by buses, nor relegated to sidewalks, we roll past silently, often not seen or heard. Powered by our own legs we pass through each scene, like visitors from another world, sampling the views and experiences. Who could possibly want to stop? It's pure pleasure to cycle on.
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