Amazing Grace

It was one of those days. . . My list of important things left undone for the day was taller than the stack of dishes threatening to topple out of the sink, and there was no way to take care of any of it because I had to take the bus down to work in Denver for the rest of the night. I was feeling flustered, but it became full-fledged frustration when I opened my backpack to find the soup and crackers I packed for dinner in a crumbly, pasty, gruel mess all over the place.

Pissed off and still a little bit hungry, I dragged my bike out of the bus's storage, got off at Union Station, and started pedaling furiously. After passing my third or fourth bus and beating cars off the line at another green light, cutting out in front of them to turn left, with the red sunset sunlight chasing me, and the road itself urging me on through intersection after intersection, I noticed a nice change taking place: a smile. I smiled. I looked up and around at the buildings of downtown Denver and smiled some more. I looked at the cars and buses behind me and smiled until it became a laugh. I owned this city! They couldn't stop me . . . weaving around cars, shooting in front of them, blasting past row after row of buildings and corners and people waiting for buses or maybe taxis, going wherever I wanted – these streets were mine! I pedaled even harder – but this time out of joy. The joy of the two-wheeled. Of the self-powered. Of the burning thighs, deep lungs, and undeniable FUN of cranking those pedals on a beautiful Colorado evening.

Amazing! Biking saved my day, and entirely transformed me from this:

to this:

I fell in love all over again, and the words of Anis Mojgani, one of the most beautiful human beings still looking at the stars while pedaling a bike, rushed through my bicycle-dosed brain: "Rock out like the streets are empty except for you, your bicycle, and your headphones!"

Pedal hard, rock out, and be happy.