I was gathering gear to ride my cross bike last night and grabbed my mountain bike shoes. I paused and smiled. There was a lot of dirt and mud splashes looking back at me, but not just any dirt. This was red, Moab dirt, the stuff that while out there gets into every nook and cranny, eats tires, and is hard on bikes. But it was also something else for me in that moment, it was a glance back in time to last falls mountain bike trip with friends. It reminded me of something really special in my life. My friends. A group of people the universe has had paths intersect with my own. It feels like I lucked out in a lot of ways, and my great cycling friends are among the best things in my life.
I think cycling, at least from my perspective, has this unique power to draw in good people. People that love to share moments outdoors over a fire and beers after a great day in the mountains, people who find possibly too much enjoyment in riding flat roads in the midwest country roads surrounded by corn and wheat. People who are genuine, don’t have ulterior motives, and all have a common love. The people I’ve met during my time riding are more important to me than any bike ever could be, and that red mud looking back at me reminded me last night.