Biking

My friend Dmitry asked me whether biking in France was any different than biking in America. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes I would look around and think to myself “I could be on the Burke-Gilman trail right now and not even know the difference”. The same trees, rivers and people were in France as were in America. However, sometimes biking in France was quite different. Some days we would bike between little villages along vineyards and fields, things I’ve never witnessed in America. Scenes such as the spire of a church poking through the hills, a small pin telling me that yet another little village was just beyond that hill, dot my memory, and I don’t think I would have found those in America. So yes, biking in Europe is special.

With my comfort bike of brick, I may not have biked a long distance, but I did bike for a long time. Biking is a very peaceful exercise. My ex-boyfriend Ben explained why biking is peaceful well to me: it’s because of the cadence. The constant up-down of the pedals is so hypnotizing. I was constantly flowing in and out of a biking zen throughout the trip: half awake, half dreaming about nothing in particular. And always there was the up-down of my pedals.

Biking of course didn’t come without its pains. My butt hurt every time I got on the bike, and after the third day my thighs were always aching. But these were all bearable pains, pleasant in fact. Even the burn I got on my thighs after forgetting to put on sunscreen for one day weren’t all that bad. Whenever I have pain like this I always remind myself that this is all temporary. If you just push through the pain a little bit, soon it will go away, and everything will be better. I suppose emotional pain is like this too. But it seems like those wounds take longer to heal.