I ride…

I ride…



My bicycle is my car.  I ride for transportation.

I ride to get places.

I don’t race.  I don’t ally cat or kitten. I don’t century or week long bike camp. I don’t ride trails.  I don’t ride on roads without cars.  I can’t afford to ride for fun.

I ride to jobs – to stores – appointments – to get there.

I ride for myself.

I ride for my health.  Even when it’s not easy – bad air – allergies – pain.  I ride in the rain, in the in wind, in the storm. I ride in the sun and under frozen clouds.

I ride to relieve the pain.  I ride to strengthen my birth defects, to forget about the surgeries and braces.  I ride to prove my legs are strong and that I can, even while differently formed.

I ride to feel my muscles burn, to sweat out the anxiety, to race my heart.

I ride till exhaustion to move past the stress.

I ride in poly cotton blend.  I ride in used, donated and thrift clothes.  No kits or trendy cycle gear.   I ride in my work clothes, I ride in my party clothes, I ride comfortable.

My ride is used – almost as old as me.  The parts I ride on are used and patched together.  My ride is unique – my ride, Frankenstein.

When I ride, I ride fast.  I pass it all.  Ride past it all.  I ride aware.  No headphones.  My speed is often underestimated.  In flowy short skirts I dust cyclists up hills.

I ride in the middle of the lane.  I take my right of way.

I ride by myself.  I ride with my daughter.  I ride with my dog and cat.  I ride.  To get there – I ride.

– By Binky Brown


art by Thorsten Hasenkamm

Thorsten Hasenkamm

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