On hot days in Harmony, Maine, I ride my bike on dirt roads through the woods. It's one of those mountain hybrids with a comfy seat, shock absorbers and wide, knobby tires to help me plow through sand, gravel, cinders and mud puddles. A liesurely pace is lovely, but sometimes I love to tear along as fast as I can, bumping over roots and boulders, getting covered with sweat and mud splatters.
During a ride last Monday, I encountered an elderly man on an old-fashioned bike with coaster brakes. We were both startled: it was the first time I'd ever seen another bicyclist on the dirt roads, other than a neighbor who rides a tandem by himself into town.
The old gentleman was of the pre-helmet generation. He wore a green brimmed hat with a bug screen for his face and pedaled slowly and steadily. He greeted me with a nod and a smile and rang a bell bolted to the handlebars as we passed each other.
No comments:
Post a Comment