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No, it’s not the second coming. I would be gone and I probably wouldn’t leave a note behind for my family.  I would also be posting this blog from a WiFi hot spot in heaven.  Hey you, get off of my cloud.

Nope.  But I about high enough to be in heaven.  I called my dad a few minutes ago and he told mom as he handed her the phone —

“Watch out, it’s Steve and he’s on one of his highs.”

I love you, dad.  But you can’t ride my bicycle.


No, it’s not the attack of the exclamation points.

Steve wasn't home for dinner.

Steve wasn’t home for dinner.

My.. first.. bicycle.. ride.. since.. foot… surgery.  I thought this day was never going to get here.  At least not this soon.  January 10th was the surgery and the surgeon said that three months was the minimum (urgh, argh) recovery time.  Six weeks ago my doctor said that I would be wearing the walking boot for six weeks or more, definitely not riding in six weeks, depending on if the fused bone takes and heals.

This afternoon was my six week check up.  Doctor Sunshine showed me the xray, pointed to where the bone had grown around the plate and screws, smiled and said

“Congratulations.  You can throw away that walking boot.  Get out that orange Adidas shoe you have been saving your left foot.  Walk.  You can try riding a bike but be careful.  The exercise is going to help alleviate the swelling… and I don’t want to see you again unless the foot is falling off.”

He shook my hand.  It’s nice to have a doc who rides.  I’ll likely see him on a group ride some time this summer.

The first shoe I wore on my new left foot was my Shimano cycling shoe.  I got home with the sun shining, hardly a breeze blowing, and plenty of daylight left.  We were supposed to have thunderstorms all day, so the weather was a bit of a miracle.  God was telling me to go for it.  No one was home.  There was no question what I was going to do.

My bike looked at me questioningly as I opened the garage door.  Ready?

The spandex fit like a glove.  A very tight glove.  Three months of riding the couch has added a few pounds.  Three months without feeling spandex close to my skin is too long, but it felt soooooo good.

You may stop reading to gag, if required.

Now imagine a 51 year old man bending over a bicycle pump in spandex.  The fssshhh fssssshh fsssshhhhh of the pump filling the high pressure tires of my road bicycle was music to my ears.  I gathered gloves, helmet, water bottle, and shoes.


The familiar clop clop clop of the hard soled bike shoes and cleats on the asphalt driveway as I walked my bike out to the street.  I sighed a happy sigh as I stretched my right leg over the top tube, clicked the cleat on my left foot into the pedal, pushed off with my right as the saddle met my back side, then the right cleat clicked in.  The hum of the tires soothed.

I was riding again.  Right turn, turning the pedals to propel my light titanium bicycle forward.  Left turn.

And God showed me that my return to the bike was blessed.  Rolling towards me was my friend, Jim, the guy riding through the woods on my blog header, one of my best riding friends.  Coincidence?  Some times you just have to admit that God does stuff like that.

Best ride ever.  Ten miles out of the box, out of healing.  It felt good with hardly a twinge of pain.

Miriam greeted me in the garage as I pulled in from the ride, laughing at me as I gave a loud whoop with my fist in the air.

It’s going to be OK.  It’s going to be great.  All is well.

It has happened.