Wheels in passing

Today I more formally grieve the loss of my dad's having his own bike.  Even though I'm deeply thankful that he's given it to me (it'll work great for the shorter folk in our family), taking possession of it formally represents what Dad already decided about a year ago: giving up bicycling on the street.  Thankfully there hasn't been any sudden loss of motor function or some terrible accident.  Rather, given the knowledge of his own slowed reflexes and the recent death of a cyclist in his neighborhood (by a very aged driver), he decided it was wise that he stop riding his bike to work, something he actually tried to maintain even after moving from Highland to Loma Linda.  For me, it's a poignant reminder about the different stages of one's life.  My dad was never a super avid cyclist, yet there are a great many memories of his riding to work with his relective pantleg cuffs (which he also gave me), as well as taking Ruthie & me out to different places on bikes.  Gratefully by the time we got to college he upgraded from his super heavy department store Murray (of note, AFTER he had upgraded Ruthie's and mine to bikeshop brand bikes) to the entry-level Cannondale mountainbike without suspension.  As I put it on the bikerack to transport home & later as I wiped it down & put it into our garage, I noted how well he'd taken care of it & how there wasn't a bit of rust to be seen on it.  Thanks, Dad, for instilling in us an appreciation for exercise and helping us understand the usefulness of our bicycles in creating family memories.  I hope to pass that wisdom on to our kids.