Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities.
This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride.
We went through our usual pre-flight checklist:
Stretched out the morning stiffness.
Filled the water bottles.
Strapped on the helmets.
Checked the tires.
Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway.
“Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.”
She gave me that look—the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this?"
“Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?”
I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gearing on my vintage LeMond road bike convinced me that reliving my glory days could wait another weekend.
Instead, I hoisted my faithful 10-year-old blue Giant comfort bike onto the bike stand.
It needed a little attention. I gave the wheels a thorough de-spidering, checked the gears, applied a generous dose of chain lube, inflated the tires, and quietly apologized for neglecting it over the past few years.
Soon we were rolling, and the difference was immediate. Without the battery and motor, the Giant felt light, nimble, and incredibly responsive. I accelerated effortlessly, and the bike danced beneath me.
For nearly three glorious minutes, I was convinced I’d somehow been overlooked by Le Tour de France.
Then the road tilted upward by what civil engineers would probably classify as “barely noticeable.”
There wasn’t one. Right!
This bike expected me to provide all the horsepower.
As I fumbled for lower gears and tried to convince my lungs this was all part of the plan, Lori quietly glided past me on her e-bike. She didn’t simply pass me. She floated by with a serene smile and a slow-motion wave that looked remarkably like Queen Elizabeth greeting her loyal subjects from the royal carriage.
It was elegant.
It was gracious.
It was just a tiny bit smug.
At that moment, I reached a scientific conclusion that no peer-reviewed journal has endorsed: An e-bike doesn’t make you a distance cyclist. It makes you a very enthusiastic passenger who occasionally contributes.
Or, to put it another way, I’d somehow confused “being in shape” with “owning expensive cycling equipment.”
Once I got over the initial shock of having to generate my own forward motion, something wonderful happened.
It all came back.
Clipped into my Shimano pedals, I felt my muscle memory reawaken and my cadence return. The smooth power transfer made sense again. We soon were flying, with the wind rushing past, tires humming, and the rhythm effortless. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t focused on speed, battery, or assistance.
I was simply riding. I felt like a kid again.
As the miles rolled by, my thoughts drifted to the LeMond bike in the garage. I’d received it for my 50th birthday, the gift that started my tradition of riding my age in miles every year.
Now, as I approach 70 this coming August, I realize that one birthday present became the foundation for more than two decades of staying active, healthy, and connected to something I genuinely love.
During that ride, reflecting that this holiday weekend also marked my very first official weekend of retirement, I decided this milestone deserved a proper celebration.
What better way to celebrate good health, this incredible new chapter of life, and the simple joy of riding than with a new bicycle? One with a wide gear range, serving as my official training vessel for that upcoming 70-mile birthday ride.
So naturally, we stopped by the Trek store just to fix one flat tire. This is roughly equivalent to stopping at Costco for toothpaste.
We walked out with a brand-new carbon fiber Trek.
It is absolutely gorgeous. Crimson red. Ridiculously light. It’s the kind of bicycle that practically whispers, “Let’s go see what’s around the next bend.”
I’ve owned it for exactly five days, and I’ve already logged about 35 miles. We’re just getting started.
Am I sore? Absolutely.
My quads have filed a formal complaint.
My shoulders have retained legal counsel.
Every muscle below my eyebrows would like a meeting with management. (Thank goodness for Tylenol).
But underneath all that soreness is something even better. The feeling of complete freedom has returned. It takes me all the way back to my first Mercier bicycle when I was fifteen years old and cared about nothing more than seeing how fast I could make it go.
It turns out the magic of summer wasn’t hiding in the e-bike, the carbon fiber frame, or even that irresistible new-bike smell. It was waiting on the other side of that first little hill—the one where my thumb searched for a button that wasn’t there, and my legs suddenly remembered they had a job to do.
Here’s to summer mornings.
Here’s to old bikes and new bikes.
Here’s to sore quads.
And here’s to the sweet, satisfying joy of earning every mile the old-fashioned way.
I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious and ask better questions. See you on the road.
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