Hudson Valley Biking in Honor of My Dad

I was 11 years old when I rode a bike for the first time. I snuck out of the house to play with kids next door. Without experience in riding, I naturally took a tumble, many times! I came home with cuts and bruises, and was forbidden by my mother to go biking again. "I am a terrible biker", I thought to myself. But I knew that it was only because I didn't have the opportunity to practice, learn skills, and build my confidence.
In 2015, I got a bike that belonged to a kid, just so I could practice and get used to it. Then about a couple of years ago, I bought my very own first bicycle, and rode it all summer. I started to trust myself, and my riding instincts. I learned to let loose, and "go with the flow". My dad used to say that all the time. He was an athlete, outdoorsman, and daredevil adventurer. Over the weekend, we commemorated the anniversary of his passing. I always prefer doing something that he would have enjoyed. In 2018, my friends and I went on a Memorial Hike to wish him a good journey to his final destination. This year, Ian and I did a Memorial Bike, and drank Tanduay (old-school rum) in his honor.
After his death, I reflected on how my father lived life to the fullest. He roamed the earth briefly, but he covered a lot of ground. I wanted that part of him to continue living, so I vowed to start living audaciously, just like he did. I think I am getting good at it. I biked in the rain last Saturday. And between you and me, sometimes I let go of the handlebars! "Look Mom, no hands!"
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