Due to three generations of pressure, I don’t get that wind-in-my-hair feeling while riding, but at least my helmet is red. I may look ridiculous, but I’m visible.
Riding it is a quick trip to the carefree parts of being a kid. I like the wind. I like the feel of the tires on the street. My thighs remind me they exist when I pedal. The sound of coasting relaxes me with its ticking. Even the part where I scraped the back of my ankle on the pedal felt like childhood.
I want to go again.