Finding Bliss on a Pink Bicycle

After dropping off my newly minted seven year-old (!!!) at developmental skills day camp (where he has the **most** phenomenal one-on-one ‘buddy,’ a sweet, funny, energetic, gentle, insanely gorgeous tall-blonde-drink-of-Tennessean-water who was just graduated from uni, majoring in TR — Therapeutic Recreation), I took his big brother (8 yo) and bb’s bff to what we call The Fart Park. It’s actually named for an astronaut but when the children were little a family friend left out the ‘astronaut’ part and instead told them it was named for the loudest farter in town. And a new name was born.

Our town is filled with Outdoorsy Types — hardcore runners, cyclists, climbers, etc. and so we have the most fantastic and plentiful (and Accessible!) trails. My husband fancies himself said Outdoorsy Type; sure, if by “outdoorsy” you mean addicted to the Dots app then you bet! I’ve recently threatened to affix dots to my clitoris but that fell on deaf ears … and already-engaged fingers.


We moved here six years ago from the San Francisco Bay Area (California); our sole regret was that we didn’t move here sooner. I still think that is a pretty terrific regret. While driving around town and learning various routes I repeatedly drove down the scenic highway (although they’re all pretty scenic ’round here): paralleling it is a wide bike path. Every time I saw it I had this thought: I want to ride my bicycle along it, and I always had that thought whilst behind the wheel of my minivan.

We decamped at the park and the boys got on their black and snazzy boy bikes and I hopped on my pink Townie bike, pink painted with cherry blossoms (by me). We ended up going a lot farther than I’d anticipated, which was fine, and so to make it back to Fart Park we went in a big loop. Serendipitously that meant we rode along the path I’ve seen and dreamt of multiple times weekly these past six years.

I was filled with such a sense of serenity, to finally ride along just this one stretch. It wasn’t premeditated. It was by no means the most scenic, but it was the stretch which made my chest open and made me feel bliss.

It was shortly tempered by some boneheaded moves on the bicycles by the boys … but I felt it. It was real. I realized a dream today.


The boys played in the cold and wild creek and we saw tubers pass them by; I read more of “Second Hearts” by GJ Walker-Smith (I am enamored with this “Wishes” series). As I lolled in the sun-dappled shade in this bucolic setting I fancied myself in some British novel idyll … surrounded by half-empty Go-Gurt wrappers and watching the boys wrap Craisins (dried + sweetened cranberries) in nori (Japanese roasted seaweed). That kinda snapped me right out of my Forster fantasies.


But I’m thinking about what I achieved today. I’m thinking that even though I’m currently looking at a floor desperate for a vacuum (and being a woman desperate to avoid vacuuming), my spirit knows I made it. I realized a dream today.

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One Response to Finding Bliss on a Pink Bicycle

  1. Pingback: Angels in the Costco | the horse enabler

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