Columns: Rest Days

It seemed odd at the time the thought struck me, but in hindsight it is fitting now.

It happened last weekend on the plane ride to Oakland, California, from here in sunny, smoggy, ass-end-of-the-Golden-State Orange County. The reason for the trip was for Rachel and Mark's wedding in Marin County. Yes, that Marin. The "birthplace" of the mountain bike.

Even after taking off my shoes and socks in a futile effort to count how many times I've been up to the Bay Area, there is one thing I do know: Every time I've made my way up north, I've always pedaled a bike. And it seems that whether it was at China Camp, on Mt. Tam or Tammarancho, the rides are always top notch.

This trip, even though I was staying in San Francisco with a friend and traveling light -- and lucky enough to score a $72 round-trip flight -- I didn't pack shoes and pedals. Yes, I could've taken her up on her offer of a borrowed bike and a quick morning ride before the wedding, but I didn't. I just thought it wasn't right thing to do, for some strange reason.

That afternoon, the wedding ceremony was a true celebration, and then the day just kept getting better. It was the combination of the open bar and catching up with people I hadn't seen in months or even years. The odd thing is that the one thing all these wonderful people -- some new acquaintances, some old friends -- have in common, the one degree of separation, is that we crossed paths because of a mutual acquaintance -- the mountain bike.

Thanks to a life spent around bikes, I've met or have had the honor to know so many truly unique and wonderful individuals, including some of the guests at Mark and Rachel's wedding, and even the ones I feel genuine warmth for who weren't there. Perhaps we celebrate the bicycle every time we throw a leg over it and head for dirt, and it never ceases to amaze me how the two mix as well as chocolate and peanut butter. At one point we all pedaled bikes together. I've laughed with them and learned from them ,and sometimes we've even cursed at each other, but we've made it through to the other side, friendship intact. Upon further reflection, it seems like one long, priceless moment.

The weather had been dark, cold and cloudy all week in the Bay Area, but out at Stinson Beach on that Saturday afternoon, the sun somehow made its way through the clouds, putting the crowning touch on a truly memorable event. It seemed an appropriate rest day from the bike. And when I next head out the door for a ride, and every one thereafter, no matter how extremely hot, rainy or maybe even how tired I might be, I will try to remember how fortunate I am that my life is shaped in strange and wonderful ways by this simple, yet complex, machine called the bicycle -- and the cast of characters it has connected me with.