My cellar resembles the back alley of some bike shop. I can think of nothing better than having so many wheels at my finger tips. Each bike has a story, a history of some adventure. Centuries peddled, crashes, near misses, and sticky power bars pressed onto the metal. My blood, sweat and tears rolled into one journey of hope and forgiveness. My bikes are the heartbeat of so many of my friends and family who have died of cancer and for whom I ride. This season as I get set to register for four amazing cycling events, I think of the joy and passion that this metal collection of wheels brings me. I take along the spirit of those who can no longer ride. I invite others to join me.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Tour de Living Room
My cellar resembles the back alley of some bike shop. I can think of nothing better than having so many wheels at my finger tips. Each bike has a story, a history of some adventure. Centuries peddled, crashes, near misses, and sticky power bars pressed onto the metal. My blood, sweat and tears rolled into one journey of hope and forgiveness. My bikes are the heartbeat of so many of my friends and family who have died of cancer and for whom I ride. This season as I get set to register for four amazing cycling events, I think of the joy and passion that this metal collection of wheels brings me. I take along the spirit of those who can no longer ride. I invite others to join me.
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