Why I Ride - Part 2 In Series

Most of my blog postings are about the fun I have while transporting myself and family on a bicycle. A few months ago, I wrote about one of the foundations for my choice to go by bike, and I have several more of these reasons to share as I balance writing about my enjoyment of riding with my foundations for riding. Today, I will explain as best I can another reason of Why I Ride.

February 8, 1979. December 22, 1981. The former is the day Inez Ingles McBride, my grandmother, passed away. The latter is my birthdate. She was 52. Cause of death: heart failure. The exact causes or conditions related to her passing are unknown, as her heart simply gave up. From what I am told and have read, she was full of life, and would appear from the outside to be healthy and fit. I'm sure you did the math a minute ago and realized that I was born after her passing; I never met her. Not mathematically possible. I did know her husband, grandpa Cliff, and he is the subject of my post referenced above.

Photo Courtesy of Dennis Ingles, PicasaWeb

52 years old. I remember my mother stopping and contemplating her own life on the day she turned older than her mom ever was. I can't imagine losing a parent at the age of 22, and going through marriage and parenthood without that same-gender parental influence on which I have so casually relied in my own life. I am indeed not grateful enough for my parents, nor for what I and my children (their grandchildren) are blessed with.

Thinking forward, as I have grown accustomed to doing as of late, I think of my desires to be a welcomed influence in the lives of my children and grandchildren. I think the best way to be a part of someone's life is to be alive, hence this connection of my grandmother to Why I Ride. So far, I have described two of my four grandparents--details on the other two are forthcoming--whose lives were stopped short due to opposite problems: one's lifestyle led to premature death, while the other's seemed to be good enough. I think I read in Trader Joe's today that "Good Enough Is Not Good Enough." Well put, Joe. I cannot believe that "good enough" will be good enough.

Since my genes are in part my grandmother's, I choose to ride. When it's cold, rainy, snowy, or even sweltering, my legs automatically coax me onto the saddle and into a smooth pedal stroke, gyroscopically propelling me about my way. Is cycling the best solution to improve my health and ensure a healthy heart? Who knows? What I do know is that I find peace on the bike (always sans iPod), I feel stronger, and I am one less car congesting the streets. Love you, grandma.